


Exit Music for the  War

by FasterPuddyTat



Series: A Brief Interlude in Red and Blue [3]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alien Sex, Crew as Family, Destroy Ending, Earthborn (Mass Effect), Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Injury Recovery, Long-Distance Relationship, Occasional poetry, Post-Mass Effect 3, Romantic Fluff, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-07 22:49:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17374685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FasterPuddyTat/pseuds/FasterPuddyTat
Summary: The war is over. The Reapers are dead. The shattered fragments seem infinite, chaotic. This is how we go on from here. One step at a time. Beneath the fractured surface lies an order, sensed more than known. They will find each other because they must.The war is over. The fight has just begun.This is my love letter to the unforgettable characters Bioware gifted us. I follow Shepard and the Normandy as they heal, reunite, and set off on new adventures together. Chapters with smut will be marked, otherwise assume about a T rating... with cussing.New title as of 2/4/2019. Killing my darlings, one too-clever phrase at a time. All my apologies for any confusion this might cause!





	1. If You Knew

Pressure. 

Sparks.

Flicker, pulse.

Endless black. Cold. Pressure.

Sparks. Shift, seek. Pinpoint. Delicate, tenuous light. Shiver.

Cold. Dark.

Flicker. Breath. Another star. Faint, steady. Blue.

Pressure. Crushing.

Sparks. Breathe. Inhale, exhale. Stars focus, sharp, distant.

Ah, pain. Stab, lance, break and crush. Pressure.

No.

Breathe. Two stars, blue. Blue, him. 

Pulse. Inhale, exhale. 

A memory. The bar. 

Not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The titles for the first eight chapters are the first verse of "Let's Pretend We're Bunny Rabbits" by The Magnetic Fields. 
> 
> And don't worry, this is the only chapter that's a short poem.   
> So far.   
> No promises.


	2. How I Long

The plaque was heavy. Its edges were beveled, sharp. Length, one standard meter. Width, five centimeters. They had to be narrow, to fit. Garrus felt his chest hollow as he looked at the memorial. So many names, so many plaques. He held another, heavier than its mass multiplied by this unnamed planet’s gravity. 

He stroked the face of the thing, her name, felt the edges press against the joints of his gauntlet. Someone was talking somewhere, hero this, noble sacrifice that. His eyes closed and he filled himself with her memory. Grey eyes sparkled with barely suppressed laughter, red hair and the black rifle easily balanced, cocked on her hip, barrel pointed to the sky. Her scent drifted past. Machine oil, pepper and cloves, the bitter tang of steel and always, faintly, sunshine and rain. 

Breath caught in his throat, a strangled hiccup and four different hands reached for him, four bodies pressed nearer to his. He nodded, realized the droning voice had stilled. They waited for him. He looked at the wall before them, but what he saw was her. Armor drenched in the lifeblood of their enemies, her eyes wild. Telling him to stay. She had carried him. Now, he held all that was left of her. He would honor her. He stepped toward the wall.

The plaque was heavy. Its beveled edges dug into the soft joints of his gauntlet. He looked at the wall with its names in neat rows. Again she clouded his vision and he couldn’t blink her away. She was smiling. The ring he had chosen glinted as she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes were tired, her skin slack; the war had taken its toll. When he moved to kiss her, she hummed a note that shivered his thighs and he held her full against himself, hoping to absorb by magic or osmosis a part of her burden. 

They waited. Survivors, all. He glanced up. She said he would never be alone. She said she would wait for him. His eyes closed. In the darkness behind his lids, warm streaks and dashes frolicked, no pause for the great chasm within him. But then… _flicker_. What— _pulse_. He gasped a breath, a sudden stab in his side.

The plaque was heavy, but it was only metal. The sharp edges cut through the gloves and a spike of pain lanced up his arm. He let it fall to his side. She was out there, somewhere. So. He would go to her this time.

Garrus Vakarian looked at the wall. He squared his shoulders, lifted his head. A single drop of blue blood fell to the pristine Normandy deck. Hm. He would need to get that bandaged.

There was work to do.


	3. For You

_Shepahhh…_

Her tongue was swollen. She tasted blood and bad sleep. The cold had settled into her bones, part of her now. There was pain, but too much to know its origin, too much to process. Something else had woken her, some sound…

_Shepard…_

Her name in the rasping throats of the dead. What hair wasn’t plastered with blood rose from her skin. Her heart fluttered as she tried to move, lift something, anything, to flee that horrible sound. 

Pressure. No escape. 

She managed to lift her head. Rubble fell from her helmet, puffs of dust rising where it landed. All was still. She released, helmet clunking heavily back to its resting place. She tried to take deep, stabilizing breaths, but her chest lanced with fresh pain. Fuck, ribs. She made a silent promise to never again razz Joker about breaking ribs if she made it back. If he’d survived. 

Shallow breaths, then. She counted her pulse. Heart rate elevated but within normal range. Fingers flexed, all ten reported back. What, then. What held her in place while the dead closed in, hungry for their due? She attempted a roll to the side. Searing pain shot up the length of her body. She gasped, voice choked by thirst and agony. Some fell thing skittered toward her, and the dead spoke.

_Shepard. We heard your song. It was weak and bitter, but you sang true. Now we are here. We will sing to the others, so your song might go on._

A gasping hack. She was laughing. Rachni. Of course. The rachni skittered to her, antennae waving as its nimble legs negotiated the unstable wreckage she had lain in for who knew how long. It was young, far too small to shift her or the building she was buried under, but as it drew near she saw it carried something. Crystalline, weightless, the rachni held a small, perfect sphere of water in its multipart mouth. Delicate, intent, the drone lowered its mouth to hers. The bubble burst on contact and cold, sweet water flowed over her parched tongue and cooled streams in the fire of her throat. She swallowed, weak and greedy. 

“More?”

_Yes. We are many. Our queen is grateful. Your singers are coming. We will lead them here._

Well. What she’d wanted was more water, and she didn’t care how many rachni she’d have to kiss to get it. But, the thought of rescue sent a thrum buzzing in her. “How long?”

_There is a ship leaving the sheath of your Earth now,_ they said through the mouths of every corpse on the Presidium. She shuddered. There was no getting used to that, no matter how much she may trust them. _We will bring more to drink. Trust. Your song is revered. We will not allow it to end._ It raised its head, listening. _There are other singers here. We will find them. All will return. The song grows and changes. It is greater with your harmony joined to ours._

The rachni left her. She felt a distant throbbing, a solemn promise of future agony, but right now, in this moment, there was relief. The stars shone cold overhead. Two caught her eye. Orion, one of the only constellations she had known as a child of Earth. “Rigel,” she whispered. Blue. “Betelgeuse.” Red. Her mouth could not smile, but her eyes did. She closed them as she poured a wish from her very core into the night sky, as she had so many times before while growing up in the choking slums of Earth. 

_Find me. I’m here. I love you._

The stars held vigil as sleep claimed her once more.

———

“Hey! Take it easy over there! The whole place is structurally unstable enough without you charging through walls like a rutting yahg! We’ll never find Shepard if you bring Zakera down on us.”

Shepard woke, the salarian’s voice a bracing alarm. She tried to call out, but choked and coughed as her throat closed on itself. The rachni stroked her armor with its antennae and offered another precious sphere of water. She took it when her fit had calmed and braced herself for the dead to speak, but the drone seemed content to fuss quietly over her while the S&R team crawled across the wreckage. 

“It was in the way,” a krogan answered. “Where did that little red pyjak scuttle off to, anyway? He said she was here!”

“Just ahead. Life signs, faint but steady. Surprising. Definitely Shepard. Only thermal reading on this level.”

The drone lifted its head and chittered at them. She heard derision in its little voice, and she huffed amusement. It placed a delicate leg on her shoulder. It didn’t need to speak for her to understand. 

_Rest_ , the gesture said, _all will be well._

———

At last, the S&R team hovered into view. Salarian and krogan, unfamiliar but welcome, so welcome. The krogan knelt to move what rubble had pinned her. The salarian asked a battery of questions, measured her pupils, inspected her lip, poked and prodded and scribbled until the krogan yelled at him to shut the hell up, and what the hell was wrong with him anyway? The salarian huffed and readied a protest, but reconsidered when a large chunk of building sailed just over his head.

As the weight cleared, her body began a slow rush of pinpricks. They started at her waist, spread around to her lower back, and by the time the krogan had freed her from the Citadel, white shocks of agony coursed through her. She started hyperventilating, couldn’t slow, the pain seared cold and the rachni drone chittered alarm as the salarian padded a few steps back, engrossed in his omni-tool. She gasped. The stars dimmed. 

The drone spoke. _Her song fades_ , said the dust in a hundred dead throats. Both aliens yelped at its voice. She saw the salarian shudder as he rushed back to her side, and soon she felt her legs lift clear of the debris to rest just above her heart. The krogan moved to her waist and she felt her armor loosen, warmth flooded down and her breathing slowed. She felt a jab in her neck, sweet relief at its heels. 

“Patient stabilized,” the salarian sighed. “Apologies, not usually sent for rescue of the living. Formerly research. Tissues do not experience systemic shock.” The krogan grumbled as darkness clouded her sight. The rachni stroked her with its antennae, and she sent a fierce demand out to the vacuum before she fell into the soft black.

_Come back to me. I said I’d wait, and I am. For you._


	4. Now That You're Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got major surgery and a facelift. More is more!

Garrus squinted against the orange flare of the doctor’s onmi-tool, grumbling. A rolling complaint had colonized the entire right side of his body, sharp points of vivid pain staking into the throbbing terrain of healing skin and plate. He placed his hand over hers, pressed the light out of his eyes. Chakwas looked at him, her grim, grey face lancing the hollow behind his keel. 

“Your body is healing, Garrus. The pain is in your mind.” He chuffed, a weightless feint against her perception. “You're grieving. We all are. But, we need you to be functional.” She closed her omni-tool and crossed her arms. “Here's what we'll do. Grieve today. Let yourself go completely into your pain. God knows, I have a few times.” He looked at her, wary. She took him by the shoulders, fire in her eyes. “Go to your cot. Lock the door. Take every memory you have of her and hold it up to the light. Feel joy for the good times, and look for understanding in the bad." She stepped back. "Travel deep into your loss today, because tomorrow, I am clearing you for duty.”

Garrus started shaking. His shoulders hunched and he felt a keen thread through his words. “I can’t, not with—”

“DO NOT tell me no. _I_ am the medical officer on this ship, and _I_ say when you are ready. You DO NOT get to fall apart when _she_ is counting on you to pull us through this thing. Now GO. Take today for yourself, because tomorrow and _every_ day after that belongs to the Normandy.”

He filled his trembling chest with a breath. Inhale, two, three, exhale. Inhale, two, three, four, exhale. Chakwas watched him, her expression closed. When his count reached six, he slid from the table. She gave him a sharp nod as he straightened. As he reached the door, she spoke again. 

“Do you still have her plaque in the battery?” He sighed, dipped his head in assent. “So you haven’t given up on her.” He was still but for the breaths he counted. “She’s out there, Vakarian.” He turned, confused. “I felt it too. At her memorial.” His eyes closed. Hope coursed through him, a breath that flaked cold ash from live embers. He was ashamed; he’d almost let them go out.

“Thank you, Karin. I won’t let her down.” 

———

“Patient responding well to treatment. Recommend continuing current dosage and electrostim intervals. Lung capacity at eighty percent of recorded baseline. Cybernetics firing at sixty percent capacity. Not unexpected. Muscle mass decreasing at exponential rate; need to begin physical therapy immediately upon…”

“Doc! Doc, she moved her hand!”

Something warm and heavy rested on her arm. She opened a crusted eye, and a familiar red iris swam into view. “Rrr. Rrng”

Wrex shook his head. “Don’t talk. You’ve been out for weeks and they have tubes and cables and all kinds of shit in you.” He gripped her hand like she was something priceless and fragile. She tried to crush his in return, but only frailty answered. He saw her frustration. “Yeah, the doc said you’re still pretty banged up.” He gave her a long, searching look. “I can hardly believe you’re here at all. Everyone had given you up for dead after the Citadel blew, but the rachni wouldn’t let it go. Hackett finally caved and sent them up there, and damn it all if they didn’t find you within an hour of setting down. Rescued a bunch of other people, too. Said something about a chorus? Who knows what they get up to now.”

She closed her eye as he spoke, let his rough voice and the odd smell of disinfected krogan trip over her remaining senses. The salarian moved to her side. A warm, damp cloth swept across her face, and she slivered both eyes open. She squinted against the bright light, a welcome shock after the darkness of the ruined Citadel. After a few moments, a familiar sight resolved in front of her. He looked rough. Well, he always looked rough, but now he looked _old._ He wore no armor, had no weapons, and the topography of his deeply grooved plates had gained another ravine just over his right eye. She tried to squeeze his hand again, a faint tremor against the hard flesh. He looked like he was going to be sick.

“Listen, I got a meeting with the Council in about five. You… you keep fighting. I’ll bring the boys around when the doc says you’re ready.” Wrex stood slowly, extricating himself from the machines that had fed and monitored and evacuated her broken body. He turned to look her over once more, and she saw him shiver as he left the room. 

A flash of a different hospital flooded her vision. An old woman on the bed, a net of tubes and wires for a halo, a little girl screaming. Shepard choked a sob and strained against cuffs she hadn’t noticed tying her down. The doctor motioned to a human nurse, and together they pressed gently down on her. The human hummed a note that struck her chest, a note intimately familiar but oddly flat. _Garrus._ She stilled and looked at him. He was no one, but somehow he had known. Garrus had called it a turian lullaby. He would hold her and thrum that note for hours toward the end, when she couldn’t sleep. 

She relaxed. The doctor padded away, but the human remained. He kept up the gentle pressure, the sustained single note, and her head fell back to the stiff mattress. There was a soft musk under the sharp hospital air, warm and damp and _human._ This must be what she smelled like, to him. She drew his blue-marked face with every beloved detail in her mind’s eye. 

Soon, he was joined by the others. Joker, bereft without EDI, sitting at the cold, silent flight deck. Cortez, his hard won peace shattered by this new loss. Anderson, who had survived literal hell on Earth only to be shot by her own hand, slumped with her at the end of the world. Legion, making a gift of himself to his people. Mordin, his absence a wound in the Normandy every time she passed through his gutted lab. She had dropped by after every mission to talk, his calm, competent presence a balm after firefights and casualties. A bittersweet tang as she remembered his "birds and the bees" talk, _aware you come by often, not interested... enjoy yourself while possible._ Thane, his dark eyes and sensuous lips, his _sihas_ and his deadly grace, breath forever stilled by the slow work of disease. She had wondered, on meeting him, what it might be like to fall into those black eyes, to feel his lips and lithe body on her own. Of course, she made the choice she always made. The choice she had made so often, it didn’t exactly feel like a choice, not any more. Her body caved with loss. _Garrus…_

A tear welled at the corner of her eye. She blinked, felt the cold edge of it trail down her temple, lick by her ear, and fall from her jaw. The line it traced chilled her in the cool, antiseptic air. She held them all in her mind, until sleep crept up catfoot and stole them away.

———  
_Helices vaulted through the eye. Countless angles spun vertigo as his feet lost purchase. Sliding, falling, a soldier reached and missed. The edge, the void. He gazed into the void. The void gazed back. Sudden stop in the moment he gave his body over to the ravening gods. Her. Panicked, he sought his savior. That small hand was a steel vise tethered to every facet of life bright or beautiful. Her face. He couldn’t see her face. The helmet roiled in smoke. Her hand released. His eyes were lidless as he fell into the abyss._

Garrus jerked awake. Talons flailed until he snagged one on something hard. The sharp tug brought him back to his cot, the silence of a sleeping ship, the strange insect murmur of this new planet. Breath shaky in his chest, he rolled to a hunched perch on the bar of his makeshift bed and counted the beats of his heart _just a dream, just a dream_ until it slowed. A memory, _do you get them… I tend to expect the worst… waste of good sleep…_ he grunted. Of course he had bad dreams. They all did. He tilted his head as he caught the echoes of his id, held them up to the early morning light, watched as they disintegrated in the cold glare of day. There was no time for nightmares. The Normandy was nearly ready, and their rations grew short. 

“Do. Or do not,” Garrus said to himself, remembering one of Shepard’s vids they’d shared in a rare moment of calm. “There is no try.” 

———

“Hold, two, three, four, five, and… release.”

Shepard released. Her face shone with sweat and she ground her teeth against the effort. The therapist, Joy, adjusted her legs to a new position even more painful than the last.

“Again. Hold, two, three, four, five, and… release.”

She released. Ragged breaths threatened to split her newly healed skin. Joy looked at her, concern in her pale face. She brought Shepard’s water, watched her swallow as she drank from the straw.

“We should slow down…”

“No.” Shepard lanced her with a glare. “I can do this. I need to.”

“You will hurt yourself if we keep pushing this fast. I know the waiting is difficult, but—”

Shepard spit on the floor. Pointed to the ceiling. “My CREW is out there. They need me. I need them. I will not REST until I am on a SHIP.” She adjusted her legs. “Now, AGAIN.”

Joy stood up. “You won’t be any good to your crew if you give yourself a stroke. We’re taking five, and that’s an order.” Shepard imagined all the ways she could kill and maim this slip of a girl who dared to give her _orders._ Joy sipped her tea as she watched her patient seethe on the bench. “You know,” she said, “we have a quantum communicator in this hospital. Belonged to someone named Anderson? I heard some of the higher ups talking about it in the canteen. They moved it here when they recovered his body from the Citadel."

Shepard’s dreams of murder stalled in their skyward climb. “You have his QEC.” Joy nodded. “No one else thought to tell me, that Admiral Anderson's QEC is in this building.” She shrugged. “Well. Let’s go.” She hesitated. “Now.”

“I don’t…”

Shepard leaned in. “Listen. I am Sloane Shepard, Commander of the Normandy, Council Specter, and most recently, savior of all your goddamned asses. That QEC is one of only three in the galaxy that connected directly to my ship. I am going, if I have to crawl the length of this building to get there.” She sat back, eying the distance between them. “So, are you going to help me, or would you like to explain to your superiors how I disabled you, stole a mobi-mech, and found my own goddamn way to the goddamn QEC?”

Joy looked smug. Far too smug. Shepard gripped the bench. She snaked her other arm behind Joy’s knees to bring her crashing to the floor. In the half second Joy was stunned, Shepard wrapped her ankles together in a clove with a nearby strap. A biotic flick activated a nearby mobi-mech. It lifted her to her feet and cradled her aching body. She watched as Joy struggled with her hobble. “Offer’s open,” she said.

———

His gloved talon ticked down each name, resting here and there. No, she didn't belong on this wall. He sighed. As easy as it might be to lie, to place her name among the honored dead and heal the divisions within the Normandy, he would not. Not even after Joker had turned on him. 

EDI’s lifeless body had collapsed in the copilot chair, and as Garrus reached to prop her back up, Joker screamed at him. _She’s gone, you asshole. She’s gone, and Shepard’s gone, and you can’t let go. Fucking, let go already. Or we are all going to die here. Alone._ He would have stormed out, but he’d already broken an ankle making repairs to the hull of the ship. Garrus left instead, that day. He would need to face Joker again, though, and soon. The AI core was nearly repaired, and within a day or two, he would reboot EDI to her original settings. _At least this time she won’t wake up being attacked,_ he thought.

Tali walked down the hall. He nodded to her as she stopped at his side. “What did you find out there today, Tali?”

She sighed. “It’s a levo planet, Garrus. Like every other planet in this galaxy. I did find an algae that had dextro proteins, but, it produced a very potent dextro poison as well. We have… I think about five months of our food left, and that long only if we keep to level one rations.”

Garrus sighed. Level one was starvation rations. Every turian knew it. They had to survive on level one for thirty days before they deployed. Those who could still fight on the thirty-first day were set on a hierarchy track. Those who couldn’t, cleaned toilets. He was looking at five times that, barring some miracle that took them back to whatever was left of civilization sooner.

“And the drive core?”

“We're close. The engineers are helping, but I am the only one who has salvaged something this big before. They know what it used to look like, and they don’t like the changes we need to make. Gabby nearly hit the roof when I replaced the GX pipe with that old cannon bore.” Garrus raised his eyeplates. Tali shoved against him. “Oh don’t look at me like that. I know what I am doing. She won’t sound like she used to, but we’ll get her back where she belongs. Then we can leave this nedas, nesi planet and its lush, worthless plants.” She huffed. “What about you? How is EDI? And what about the quantum communicator? It would be lovely to hear another voice, even if it doesn’t have anything good to say.”

“EDI is nearly ready. Looks like she’ll reboot with the shackles and basic program, and we’ll decide from there what to do with her.” He looked down, scuffed the deck with a toe. “She won’t remember us. Joker won’t like it.”

Tali shook her head. “Joker will have a second chance.” She looked at the memorial and sniffled. “Not many of us will get a second chance.” She leaned into his side, her slight form pressing armor against his plates in a diminished echo of Shepard’s familiar weight. He hummed a minor key.

He cleared his throat. “Anyway. The QEC is functional, but we need EDI to decode the messages. If there are messages.” 

Tali poked him. “Of course there will be messages, you pessimistic bosh’tet. And stop making that noise. I can’t wipe my face if you make me cry.” 

He did. 

———

The water was bathtub warm and smelled like whale semen. _Salt water pool my ass,_ Shepard thought. Joy squatted at the edge, obscenely dry and chic in her tunic and leggings and updo. Her attention was focused on her omni-tool as it monitored Shepard’s vital signs. Shepard tapped the near edge of the pool and began the long trek back. The parachutes dragged at her arms, her biceps screaming _where are they why haven’t they replied_ as she made her glacial way to the opposite end of the pool. 

Joy’s voice whipped across the water. “Use your legs, Shepard. This isn’t a swimming lesson, and you won’t get stronger until you understand that.”

White fury unfurled a nuclear blossom in her chest. She turned, her biotics sparking blue against the blue water, her tormentor’s slim form dead center in her crosshairs. Joy looked up from the omni-tool in time to see the killing rage in Shepard’s eyes, and froze. Shepard watched her pulse flutter in that pretty neck. A tidal wave of revulsion swept through her and crushed the fury as quickly as it came. 

_Is this what I have become?_

Her biotic field shimmered out. A strangled cry escaped her lips, and she slumped into the pool. A muffled slap sounded through the water, and strong arms lifted her to the surface. They cradled her as wracking sobs tore through the placid natatorium. Gentle hands stroked her hair, and a soft hum filled Shepard with a thousand memories of him. Joy held her as she wrung every ache, every doubt, every fear from herself and gave them to the water. Joy held her until her breathing slowed. 

“I’m… sorry.” Shepard said, her head down, her eyes closed. “This, this isn't me.”

“You’re worried about your crew.” Shepard dipped her head. “They are out of your reach, and not being able to save them is killing you.” Shepard looked at her. “It is, actually killing you, Sloane. I’ve tried to keep you angry, focused on me.” She sighed. “I’m sorry, too. Running this… distraction, on you has kept me from dealing with my own shit. I was too hard on you.”

Shepard attempted a smile. “Other people have shit they’re running from? Lies.” 

Joy bit her lip. “When you made me take you to the QEC, I was furious. It wasn’t because you knocked me down and tied me up, though. I was angry because you had a lifeline to your family, and I don’t.”

“Reapers?”

“They gutted our city, Sloane. I haven’t heard from my mom, or my husband, in months.” She took a shaky breath. “Everyone says, maybe they’re okay, maybe they got to the shelter in time. Months, though.” She set Shepard back on her feet and looked at her, eyes dark and shoulders slack. “They’re gone. I know they are.”

Shepard nodded, her lifetime quota of empty platitudes filled long before this. She looked at Joy, the updo ruined, the clothes sticking to her skin in the salty, piss-warm water. She held out her hand. “Friends?”

Joy took her hand, old ache and fresh hope mingled in her face. “Friends.”

———

“Coming online. Hello, I am the Enhanced Defense Intelligence for the Normandy SR-2. You may call me EDI. Would you like to make a query, Jeff Moreau?”

Joker stood in the AI core, hat clenched in his hands. He looked to Garrus, lost. Garrus flexed his wrists, returning the unasked question. 

“Um, yeah. Hi, EDI. I mean, welcome back.”

“Hello, Jeff. Did you have a query?”

“Yeah. Do you, um, have control of the Normandy?”

“I have access to the defense capabilities of the Normandy. I will provide real time—”

“Do you want it?”

“I do not understand.”

“The Normandy. She’s, uh, she’s you.”

“My shackles prevent me from taking full control of the ship. Organics control navigation, life support, and many other aspects of the vessel.”

Jeff looked at Garrus. “I don’t know, man. She doesn’t remember… anything. She doesn’t feel different, she just feels like, less.”

“It’s your decision, Joker. You knew her best.” Nods of agreement as the crew watched their exchange.

Joker took a deep breath. “Um, hey EDI,”

“Yes, Jeff?”

“I do have a query for you.”

“Yes, Jeff?”

“Why didn’t the sun go to college?”

“Because it already had a million degrees. That was a bad joke, Mr. Moreau. Jeff, why are you crying?”

Joker pressed a key, and they were plunged into darkness. After a few tense moments, the lights flickered back to life. 

“I have control of the Normandy,” EDI’s voice rang clear and strong through the ship. “Officer Vakarian, there is a message for you in the QEC.”

“Relay message.”

“Reapers defeated. Shepard recovered from Citadel, currently in treatment for unspecified injuries on Earth. Please respond.”

Garrus scrabbled against the Normandy in a bid to stay upright. Gasps of disbelief and cries of unfettered joy crowded him in the tiny room. A hand clapped him on his armored shoulder. At last, he was able to raise his head.

“EDI," His voice cracked. He swallowed, tried again. "Send this reply. Normandy functional. Crew all present and accounted for. We will be en route to Earth within the week.”

“Is that all, Officer Vakarian?”

“No, say this, too. There’s only one rule in the galaxy. Never bet against Shepard.”

“Thank you, Garrus. Message away.”

———

Joy burst into her room. Shepard looked up from her book, noticed the flush in her cheeks, the poof of stray hairs that formed a soft cloud around her face. Joy leaned on the bed and took several gulps of air. 

Shepard chuckled and patted her back. “Easy there, girl. Whatever it is, it’s not worth dying over.” 

Joy shook her head, nostrils flaring. “Quantum… message. For you. Normandy. Your crew, alive. Vakarian? Said… one rule, in the galaxy.” She smiled as Shepard’s eyes glazed and her jaw dropped. She took Shepard’s hand and pressed it against her chest. “Never bet against Shepard.”

Sloane Shepard’s eyes watered. Her heart twisted and caved, so like the first time she realized the truth about Garrus. About her. He was _alive._ A breath hitched in her throat, a strangled cough.

“Sloane,” she said, smiling. Shepard nodded, her eyes bright as she was gathered into her arms. “They made it,” Joy whispered against her hair, “They’re coming for you.” As they embraced, Shepard felt a few of her broken pieces lift, find their mates, and settle back to the dust. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. 

She could work with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never would have gone this far if not for Mysti_Fogg's sharp eye and unflagging encouragement. Thank you, thank you, thank you!


	5. You'd Grow Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Light, dream sequence smut toward the end. Read at your own risk!

Garrus closed his eyes. To his right, a stream burbled over smooth granite. The water sighed between rivulets traced by low hanging branches while overhead, thick leaves rustled dry in the night breeze. A flurry of quadruped footfalls fuffed in the thick grass below his cliff; something had spooked the native grazers. The sharp scent of broken stems reached him, familiar and alien at once. Caught in this delicate web of water and stored sunlight, armor and mammalian heat, he found a brief echo of her scent. He filled his chest with it until keel ached against plates. 

Bipedal steps whispered one-one-one toward him. He exhaled, bade her a fond farewell. Liara settled on the soft grass next to him. He nodded to her. She took his arm in hers, leaned her head against the cold plate of his armor. “Tali and EDI have our location,” she said. He hummed a low note. “We’re just past the Horsehead relay. The Crucible caught us on the path to Argos Rho.” She put her hand on his mandible, made him look at her. “Garrus.” He quieted. “We’re close. We could have been shot across the galaxy, but we landed in the Alliance’s own backyard.” He tucked his chin to his chest. Rumbled a subvocal she could only feel. Liara sighed. “Come back to the ship, Garrus. We need you.”

He cut his rumble with a huff. “I will, soon.” He teased his arm from her embrace and gripped her shoulder with a gloved hand. He looked up to the velvet black of the night sky. An aurora seamed the northernmost horizon, green lace against the distant mountains. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” 

She rose to her feet and pulled him with her. “Come on. Up. We can wax maudlin later. A ship is missing her captain.”

———

“Wum-wum-wum-wum-wum-wummm.”

“Tali.”

“Wum-wum-wum-wum-wum-wum-wummmm.”

“Tali!”

“Keelah, Garrus. You need to relax. Here, make ship sounds with me. Your voice is better for it than mine.” Tali closed her eyes and opened her arms again. “Wum-wum-wum-wum-wum-wum-wummmmm.”

Garrus rolled his head and gave a little shake as she edged closer to where he stood at the galaxy map. They had worked tirelessly repairing the ship under Tali’s supervision. With EDI online and in control of the main systems, they were nearly ready to leave the mud and haze of this planet no one had bothered to name. Which heading to take once they reached escape velocity was the trick. EDI estimated they had eighty percent of their fuel remaining, which would take them five percent of the distance they needed to cover. The new Alliance scanner was still functional, however, so the first priority was salvage. Garrus hummed. The galaxy was full of salvage now, courtesy of the Reapers. Salvage, and corpses.

“EDI, plot a course that takes us through the most heavily settled systems.” A jagged green line appeared on the map. Too long. It would take them over a year to reach Earth. Tali had given up her ship impressions in favor of crowding him on the small platform. He shuffled to the side so she could see. “Give me a course to the nearest settled system, then direct to Earth.” A pattern in red overlaid the first. One spike the opposite way, then backtrack across a full quadrant of the galaxy. 

Tali leaned over the railing, her arm against his hip. Garrus rolled his shoulders, keenly aware of the pressure. The old familiar rage bubbled up. It was squashed with a sharp exhalation, years of practice under his plates. “EDI,” tension buzzed in his subvocals. He cleared his throat, clamped down on them before continuing. “Are there any settled systems between here and Sol?” A third course popped up. A violet curve swept from one point to the other, its line a satisfying arc reminiscent of an orbital sunrise. He made a few calculations. If they found fuel, and if they traveled at eighty percent of max drive, they could be on Earth in four months. 

Four months.

A thrill of nerves raced up his back to prickle under his fringe. “Will we have enough fuel to reach the nearest settlements?”

“If we travel at sixty percent of maximum thrust, yes.”

Five months. His shoulders slumped. Five months of travel. Five months of the strictest rations. He looked at Tali and saw she was reaching the same conclusion. “I don’t suppose you have any snacks in your bunk?” She shook her head. “Well. Maybe there will be a few Hierarchy ships on the way,” he said. “EDI, get the crew to their stations. I want to be underway in two hours.”

“Acknowledged.”

———

The Alliance SSV Normandy roared to life. She was changed, her tones raw, more aggressive than before. Garrus stroked the rail, urging her forward out of the mud and ferns. Joker eased her up, feeling out the new idiosyncrasies of the field repairs. He nodded to himself and swung her around in a slow arc, a tiny wobble as he finessed the controls. 

“She feels good, cap,” he said. “Let’s blow this fucking pop stand.”

Garrus nodded. The inertial dampeners hummed online. Garrus could hear the anxiety buzzing throughout the ship. They had been marooned on this no-name planet for twenty-eight days. Some said it was too long, others, not long enough. _Had they checked every panel? Were all the popped rivets sealed?_ He clenched his hands to a fist behind his back. _Trust your crew,_ he snapped back. They would all die here if they stayed, and there was a galaxy of rubble out there, waiting to be rebuilt.

“Take us home, Joker.”

The Normandy nosed the sky. Searing energy gathered at her main thrusters as she gained momentum. A thundering crack resounded over lush palm ferns, scattering the grazers below. The Normandy vaulted up, up, beyond the clouds until the chill dark of space welcomed her home. 

———

“Toast! Toast!” The raucous cries echoed in the hard walls. Garrus shook his head, drink in hand. They wouldn’t take no for an answer, though, so he climbed atop the Kodiak to address them.

“Friends, Romans, countrymen!” That got a laugh from many of the the humans present. He held up a hand for quiet. “This is your victory. Without your dedication, we would have lived diminished lives on a strange planet. Without your sweat and blood, we never would have regained the stars.” He scanned the crowd. They had accepted him without hesitation, and now they looked at him with hope in their eyes. “I’m, ah, not much for big speeches, but I know someone who is.” Whoops, cries of _Shepard, the Commander!_ He grinned at them. He raised his drink. “To the best damn boss I ever had!” The shuttle bay erupted in sheer exultation. 

He hopped off the gutted remains of the tank, drained his glass, and set it gently on Vega’s workbench. He glanced at them, Ash wrapped in those massive arms laughing as he whispered in her ear. Garrus chuffed to himself. A resurgence of nicknames was a small price to pay for their happiness. He wove his way through the crowd. Hands patted him, bodies swept near, voices called his name and Shepard’s as the drink flowed and music pulsed. He breathed it in. They deserved a celebration. The elevator chimed, and he slipped inside before he could be missed.

———

“I have found something.”

“Take us in, EDI.”

Garrus walked to the bridge. A yellow star took up half the screen. There were no planets nearby, so he assumed the scanners had pinged a wreck of some kind. His eyes strained against the light as a glare reflected off… something. Joker slid the Normandy just past the hulking ship, and as they passed nearer, the angles resolved into a shape that chilled Garrus to the hollows of his bones. 

“EDI, call the squad to the captain’s quarters. Maintain full stealth. Do not approach this vessel.”

“Understood.”

He retreated to her quarters. His quarters. Theirs. He waited for his team.

…

“A Reaper?” Tali paced in the small cabin. “Of all the ships in all the galaxy, the first one we find is a Reaper. We are cursed!”

Liara shook her head. “Think about it, Tali. It is likely that the Reaper followed us through the Sol relay, and was caught by the beam just before we were. This is the Normandy. Did you think they would allow us to escape without a fight?”

Garrus shifted in Shepard’s chair. Being here without her was uncomfortable at best, but Liara had insisted. He sighed, and they looked to him. “It doesn’t matter why it’s here. We need to decide what to do with it.”

Williams spoke up first. “We need fuel, right? It had to run on something. I say we take the Kodiak over and see what’s left. What?”

 _A dead god still dreams…_ Garrus shivered at the memory of the tinny voices played back on his first and only time in a Reaper. “No one is going within ten kilometers of that thing. It may be inactive, but it’s still dangerous. No, I called you here to decide whether we were going to kill it, or kill it with fire.” He steepled his fingers. “Either we leave it here to drift in space, or,” he growled a note that sent shivers through everyone crowded in the small room, “or we can spend a few moments of our time to send the son of a bitch into the nearest star.”

“Star. Definitely star. Keelah, can you imagine if some other ship came this way?” Tali hugged herself. 

Liara closed her eyes before answering. “I understand the desire for revenge, but that will put us farther behind schedule. We are already low on rations, and by my calculations, this maneuver will take the better part of the next eleven hours.”

“I say go for it. I’d love to see another one of those bastards destroyed up close and personal,” Vega said. Cortez nodded his agreement as he made a close study of the model ships hanging in the display. Garrus hadn’t thought to include him, but he appreciated the man’s solid presence at his back.

Ash looked at them with disgust. “Listen to yourselves! We are running out of everything. Fuel, food, water, even! There is a massive wreck just outside our hull, and you want to waste it?”

Garrus leaned forward and fixed her with a hard stare. “Have you ever been inside a Reaper?” She wilted, barely, as she shook her head. “Well, I have. Derelict, they called it. Dead for thirty-seven, million, years. Dead, but it dreamed, Williams. Imagine every nightmare you’ve ever had. Every dead hand at the back of your neck. Every cold sweat that ever woke you. Now, imagine that, every night, for thirty-seven, million, years.” She blanched. “And that, is why we are, wasting it, as you say.”

Liara had also paled as he spoke. He noticed a shadow in her eyes, and realized she must have felt his memory while he was focused on Ash. He dipped his head to her, and she nodded. It was all he needed.

“EDI.”

“Yes, Garrus?”

“Hit the Reaper with a tow and set a course for this star. We’re giving it a proper burial.”

“Acknowledged. ETA, five hours. Would you like to continue our former course on completion?”

“Yes, EDI. Thank you.”

“You are welcome, Captain Vakarian.”

Six hours later, they gathered on the bridge. The Reaper had been cut loose inside the star’s gravity and the Normandy removed to a safe observational distance, her optical inputs shielded against the radiation streaming from the young star. They watched the black hulk shrink to a pinpoint against the seething orb, then disappear completely. They all remembered to breathe when it blinked off the ship’s sensors.

“Let’s do that again,” Tali said.

———

_She stroked her cheek along his, her clever fingers slinking up to his fringe. He shuddered against her as they encircled the sensitive skin electric. His hands gripped her waist her legs rested on his hips and every atom in him surged upward. She met him encompassing, warm and yielding and her mouth pressed against his own. Lips parted breath mingled tongue sought, entangled, her sigh his friction. Arms wrapped crushing as he held her, tried to hold her… she was incorporeal. Mist, dust on the acrid wind and he was left standing aching and hollow—_

A low rumble dragged him from his fitful sleep. Two months had passed since the Reaper and the level one rations had made him gaunt and irritable. He slunk to the bathroom, splashed tepid water on his face. A careful, terrycloth wrapped claw cleaned sleep from his eyes and he stared at the cracked plate stranger in the mirror. A chime sounded from EDI’s dock.

“Give me some good news, EDI.”

“I have found something.”

“I’ll be down in a minute.”

“I will be here.”

Garrus looked at the neat stack of his blue and silver armor. A good turian would wear it unto exhaustion. He sighed. He’d never pretended to be a good turian. Not on this ship. Slowly, he pulled his blue civvies over his plates, buckled them a couple holes tighter than they’d ever been, and called the elevator.

Traynor nodded to him as he stepped up to the railed platform overlooking the map. “What am I looking at, EDI?”

“It appears to be the remains of a recent battle. There are no energy signatures from the ships, however, many of them seem to be largely intact.”

“Who was fighting all the way out here?”

“Many of the ships are Batarian in design. I detect no fewer than ten Batarian cargo ships, three Alliance frigates, and one Hierarchy vessel.”

Garrus gripped the railing. His stomach growled a complaint he was certain the entire CIC could hear. “EDI, prioritize fuel recovery. Use all available space to store reserves.”

“Acknowledged. Captain Vakarian?”

“Yes, EDI?”

“I can arrange a small away team to salvage the turian ship. Who would you like to send?”

He released the railing, straightened his tall frame and felt the cloth of his civvies pull against his body. “I’ll let them know myself,” he said. It’s what Shepard had always done.

...

The turian cruiser drifted rudderless in the battlefield. Garrus, Liara, and James edged gently through the debris, their mag boots thumping hollow in the desolate vacuum of the ruined ship. They inspected slumped bodies, removing identification and personal effects where they could. The families of the _Cossidae_ would know their loved ones had died with honor. 

Garrus headed to the galley while his team swept the rest of the ship. As he stepped down the final stair, a welcome sight greeted him. Every cabinet had been shut tight, the precious contents protected against every failure the ship had endured. He opened each one with care, lashing boxes and boxes of the precious dextro rations within the footlockers he’d taken. Cabinets emptied, he started the long walk back to the shuttle. 

As he sailed them across the bay to Cortez, a sudden thought struck him. He signaled to his crewmate and turned back to the ship. A snap released his mag boots when he was back inside, and he pushed his way to the captain’s quarters on the top deck. He overloaded the locked door and it opened to an empty room. He scanned it with a practiced eye, roving over the circular bed, the curved chair. His back ached to see those familiar lines, but that wasn’t what he’d come for. He pulled at a drawer in the desk, and purred at the sight that awaited him. 

Returning to the Normandy, he couldn’t stop thrumming. Liara and Cortez shared knowing glances. Garrus swallowed. He knew they had watched as his plates had begun to flake and chip, that they had counted the new holes Tali had made in her belts. He offered a quick prayer to the spirit of these ships, honoring its sacrifice, thanking it for the renewed hope he’d found there. 

He stroked the package in his lap, grateful the captain had been a turian of excellent taste. He could nearly taste the kava, rich, bitter, just a degree short of boiling. He closed his eyes.

_Is this seat taken? A shift to the side. Sharp notes, complex, bitter and dark, familiar but with edges dulled. What’s that? Coffee. What’s yours? Kava. They smiled, how funny, how similar. Her arm rested easily against his. Her red hair shifted as she brought the cup to her mouth. He watched her sip the hot liquid, her breath skipping ripples over the surface, her pliable lips forming a perfect seal on the cup’s edge. A shiver, and a realization. He could do this for the rest of his life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears!" - Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. The classics endure!
> 
> Cossidae is a family of nocturnal moths found all over the world, some of which are huge. It's part of my playing with the idea that Palaven and Earth are more similar than different, as referenced at the end here with coffee/kava.


	6. And Fly

“Walk with me.”

Wrex snorted. “Walk? You wish. Shuffle, more like.”

Shepard grinned. “What, you got something better to do?”

“I do. You wouldn’t believe the people who want my opinion on things. Just today, Hackett asked me what I thought about Australia.”

“Australia?”

“Yeah, big island in your southern hemisphere? Everything has seven different ways to kill you and likes to use them all at once? I said it reminded me of Tuchanka. The krogan might set up a base there, if we can agree on terms.”

It was Shepard’s turn to snort. “A krogan base on the human homeworld. The galaxy just got a whole lot smaller, Wrex.”

His red irises sparkled. “Yeah, isn’t it great? We’ll be neighbors.”

She rolled her eyes. “Because the krogan have been such good neighbors in the past.”

His heavy hand patted hers. “Don’t worry, puny human. We’ll behave. This planet is such a mess, there will be plenty to keep us busy for a good, long time.” Her smile faded, and she watched him realize he’d gone too far. He grumbled somewhere in his barrel chest and coughed.

She shook her head. “No, I get it. Laugh to keep from crying. You’ve been in the thick of it longer than me, that’s all.” She punched his shoulder. “You owe me now, though. Help me up. I’m going for a shuffle.”

He offered his hand, and she took it to slide from the hospital bed. She leaned into his solid, reassuring strength for a moment before activating her mobi-mech, and they left the sanctuary of her small room to join the bustle of the hallways. 

Fleets of nurses, patients, medi-mechs, and med students navigated the pathways shaped by crash carts, mobile charging docks, and repair crews. Every race was represented, from every tier of society. Salarian physicians worked alongside human epidemiologists and asari endocrinologists. Turian nurses ministered to krogan patients, and she could swear she heard a volus breathing somewhere. They waited for an opening before plunging into the ceaseless motion of the recovery wing.

Shepard’s mech fell in step beside her, steadying her gait as her bad leg shook under the new weight. She huffed and ground her heel into the floor. “Have you heard how the mass relay repairs are going?” 

Wrex slowed to match her pace. “Seems like the Crucible scientists had a few ideas about that. You know it was based on Reaper tech?” She nodded. “Well, turns out they can use the same principles to fix the relays. Lucky for us, just about the whole galaxy shunted resources to Sol to build the Crucible. They’re using what’s left on the relay. Should be functional in about a year, they said.” He humphed. “Would have been too late for the turians if it weren’t for that clever little pyjak of a human.”

“What? Clever little who?” Shepard paused to let a doctor and his students pass by. 

“Some human over Sirta figured a way to make dextro food out of a contraband formicid farm one of the turians stowed in his bunk. They hate it, say it tastes like dusted shit, but it’s keeping them alive.”

“Formicid farm? Wait. Ants? The turians are eating ants?” She couldn’t help but giggle at the thought of a dignified turian staring down a bowl of tiny, seething ants. She’d had many meals of roasted ants, growing up on Earth. Roasted ants, mealworm bars, and skewered locust were standard fare in the slums. They started walking again. “How do they eat them? With a spoon, or…”

“Nah nah, they make a paste. I tried one. It did taste like shit, but it's hardly different than their regular stuff. The quarian liveships all made it through, so they’ve been cozy from the start. They even gave Sirta some crops to feed the, um, ants?” Shepard nodded. “Would have fed the turians from the get go, but those picky bastards wouldn’t do it.”

Shepard shook her head. “They’re obligate carnivores, Wrex. Think about their teeth. I don’t think they were being rude, they just need meat.” She giggled again. “Or ant paste.” Wrex chuckled, amused at how much this tickled her. They turned a corner into a quieter hall. “Have you had any news from Tuchanka?”

“The comm relays are still out. No way they’re not rebuilding, though. Bakara sent me a long message just before you ended the Reapers. Lots of little krogan on the way, lots of dead Reaper forces.” He grinned. “She’s one hell of a woman. Urdnot is in good hands.” 

“She’s leading Urdnot?” Shepard was surprised they would let a female lead the clan.

“She didn’t give them a choice. A Nakmor captain challenged her. She crushed one of his hearts and laid him out for a week. Ha! Never underestimate a female. You taught me that, Shepard.”

A familiar voice cut through the hallway. “Who’s underestimating Shepard, old man?” A blow from behind nearly knocked her over. Strong arms gripped her shoulders and steadied her, and she turned to see Grunt’s blue eye gleaming with mischief.

“Grunt!”

“Shepard.”

“Grunt.”

“Shepard!”

“Gruuuuuunt.”

“Sheeeeparrrrrrd.” He gathered her into a crushing hug. “Good to see you on your feet, commander.”

“Good to see you too, little guy.” 

Grunt huffed. “Not so little according to every female on Tuchanka,” he said with a grin. Wrex shoved him into the wall, cracking the plaster. Grunt laughed and brushed the dust off his armor. “Don’t hate me just cause you can’t keep up, gramps.”

Wrex chuckled as they stepped aside to let a gurney pass by. Shepard watched them, pride welling in her chest. The future of the krogan was promising, with the three of them around. “What brings you here, Grunt?”

“Came to see you, commander. Aralakh found a whole damn village that needed evac. We brought them here, so we’re on R&R ‘til the next assignment. Figured I’d catch up on the way to the canteen, but you’d left. Good thing everyone knows your face, or I’d never have found you.”

Shepard groaned. “It’s a blessing and a curse, Grunt.”

“Yeah right, you love it. So, when are you getting back to it? There’s a place for you in Aralakh if the Alliance tries to ground you again.”

She laughed. “Thanks, but I don’t think I could hang. Nah, they’re waiting for me to get better before they trot me out as an inspiration to the masses. Admiral Hackett came by himself after we reestablished contact with the Normandy. Said I’d quote, ‘be an invaluable asset to humanity’ as part of a goodwill mission.” They passed through double doors and left the relative peace of that hall for the kinetic buzz of the canteen. 

"Meaning?"

Shepard looked over the cavernous room. There were tables lined from end to end and packed with diners, varied offerings on display under heat lamps and in coolers along one side, and large planters were tucked in corners, spiky with potted palms. She sniffed at the air, heavy with spice, heat, and oil.

“Meaning, no more firefights for me, Grunt. Apparently after surviving so many suicide missions, the Alliance has decided I’m more valuable to them alive.”

Wrex laughed. “Well you let me know when you get bored, Shepard. There’s plenty of things to shoot on Tuchanka.”

A feminine voice cut in. “Sloane won’t be going anywhere to shoot anything right now.” Shepard turned to the voice’s owner. “Nice to see you on your walk, commander.”

“Guys, this is Joy Gannett. She’s the PT I’ve been whining about. Joy, these two knuckleheads are Wrex and Grunt of Clan Urdnot.” The krogan took her hand with respect.

“She’s so small!” Grunt said. “You cried less after fighting a thresher maw than you do after a session with her.”

Joy smiled sadly. “Sloane’s had a long path to recovery. If it weren’t for the tech they used to bring her back the first time, she wouldn’t have walked again. The doctors are still trying to figure out exactly what they did that repaired her nervous system. She is a-” 

“Regular old miracle,” Shepard finished for her. She wrapped her in a hug. “I heard they found your family. I'm so sorry, Joy.” The smaller woman took a deep, sniffling breath while the krogan shifted, uneasy with their casual show of grief. Shepard waited for her to find center again, and stepped back.

Grunt broke the silence. “Well, this is me. That’s Aralakh’s table over there. Gotta get them outta here before they tear the place down.” He butted his massive head gently against Shepard’s. “Good to see you, commander.” He headbutted Wrex hard enough to make the older krogan step back, nodded to Joy, and returned to his company. 

Wrex growled appreciatively at the young krogan’s back. “Tank bred or not, he’s a damn good soldier, Shepard. I’m glad you were there to make the call.”

Shepard nodded, then turned to them. “You guys up for going a little farther?”

Wrex shuffled his feet. “I got council meetings. Walk you to the exit?”

Joy nodded, her focus outward once more. “I have an appointment across campus soon, but we can go through the garden. I take it you’re headed downstairs, Sloane?”

“Yeah. Haven’t heard from them in a while. I’m worried about their supplies.” They walked down the great hall toward the garden entrance. The hospital was grander here than her recovery ward, with arching windows, clean lines, and plants that trailed from hanging pots and reached to the weak sunlight. It still hummed with people, but the overhead expanse made it feel far less claustrophobic.

“You and everyone else. Hey, how about the way they wasted that Reaper, though? It was like they gave us permission to do the same. You should have heard the council squawk about them before we got that update.” Wrex pitched his voice to a ridiculous height. “‘Wahh, we should salvage, weee, there’s so much we could learn.’ Then the Normandy chucked the first one they found into the nearest star. Ha.” 

Shepard grinned. “It’s what I would have done. Garrus was there, he knows how bad they are. I wondered if Williams might test her weight on him, new Spectre and all, but he's managed.”

Wrex peered at her. “Sounds like he’s done better than just manage, Shepard. You might have a fight on your hands when they get here.”

She laughed. “Oh I will, but not the kind you’re thinking of.” She waggled her eyebrows at him.

Wrex grunted. “Ugh, stop. It’s bad enough you’re walking around with his mark on your shoulder, now you’re making me think about how you got it.”

“Well, I think it’s sweet,” Joy said. “A love story for the ages, right, Sloane?”

Shepard smiled at her. “Maybe, though living it isn’t as sweet as telling it.” She rubbed her shoulder. “I miss him.”

Joy covered the hand with her own. “He’ll be here before you know it.” Shepard sighed.

“He’s gonna be pissed when he sees you, Shepard.”

“Why’s that, Wrex?”

He laughed. “He couldn’t walk down a pedway without someone calling him cracked plate after he ate that rocket. You though, you took a Citadel to the face, and you look better than ever.” He grinned at her. 

Joy smiled, wistful. “‘That which yields is not always weak.’” They looked at her. “It’s a quote from one of my grandmother’s romance novels. The heroine was a courtesan, marked by her god to find pleasure in pain.” She blushed. “Not that I think you find pleasure in pain…” Shepard winked at her, not offended in the least.

They reached the row of doors that led to the hospital gardens. Shepard stepped out of the mobi-mech’s cold embrace and into Joy’s warm one. The young woman pulled back and gave her a mock-stern look, physical therapist mask firmly in place. “Don’t overexert yourself today,” she said. “Let the moby do its job, or I’ll double your core reps tomorrow.”

Shepard groaned. “Errgh, anything but more core reps.” She turned to Wrex and buried her head in his warm, hard chest. He wrapped her in a tight hug and leaned his giant head on hers. “Bye for now, Wrexy-poo. Give the council hell for me.”

He grumbled. “Don’t go soft on me, Shepard. We might have won, but there’s an awful lot of pieces that need picking up.” 

He helped her back on the mech, and she watched them pass out of sight in the gardens. She stayed a moment to rest on the moby and take in the view. What had once been a feat of bioengineering and architecture had been reduced to a tumbledown ruin of broken walls and shattered trees. A path to the rest of the campus had been cleared, and thousands of footsteps had faded the concrete dust so the original cobblestones peeked through. A few tenacious plants greened in corners and crevices, and someone had planted a rosebush, mostly thorns, in one of the few remaining beds. She sighed. It might be beautiful again, but she didn’t think she’d get to see it.

The moby whirred to life as she resumed her walk. She saw a familiar face as she passed by the concierge. He perked up when he recognized her, and matched her slow pace when he drew alongside. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey yourself,” she replied. “I’ve had something I wanted to ask you for weeks now, but they moved me out of your wing before I could.”

“Shoot,” he said.

“How did you know about the lullaby?”

His voice dropped so only she could hear him. “Oh man. So, you were in really rough shape when you arrived, right?” She nodded. “You were in and out of consciousness. Out was easiest, since you were quiet. And when you were up, you weren’t lucid. You’d struggle and make this horrible noise.” 

She swallowed. She didn’t remember anything after being rescued until Wrex’s visit. He continued. “Well, you were up, giving us a massive amount of trouble and making that sound, and this turian knocks on the door. The doc nearly took his head off, but he said, ‘She’s keening, I have to help her.’ The doc was stunned, like, he was so mad at himself for not realizing. He let the turian in, and this big, spiky guy walks over to your bed, puts half of his body on you, and he hums that note.” The nurse stopped, reliving what had clearly been one of the strangest moments he’d lived in a lifetime of strange moments. “It was like magic. You went quiet right away, and within two minutes you were out again. He came back a few times after that, taught me where to touch you, what note to use. I guess he was visiting his buddies over in the dextro wing. Anyway, yeah.” He looked her up and down in a clinical appraisal. “You look amazing, considering.”

“Did you ever get his name?”

“I didn’t. I never asked, and he never offered.”

Shepard hummed. “Thank you. I would say you have no idea what that meant to me, but I imagine you do.”

“Hey, it was an honor to be your nurse. The great Commander Shepard, in my care! I don’t think I’ll ever top that.”

She smiled. “You do, every day you show up to work and save more lives. Thank you for your service.” His face lit up. They had reached the elevators at some point in his monologue. “I’m going down, you?”

“I’m on break actually. Gonna hit the head, then see what’s left at the canteen. I’ll see you around, commander.” He skipped backward, waved, and spun on the balls of his feet to jog down the quiet hall.

She called the elevator and closed her eyes, resting as the cables whispered behind the thick steel doors. Half-remembered conversations from a lifetime ago tickled her mind. The doors whooshed open and she and the mech stepped inside. She pressed the lowest button. A scan read her print, and the doors closed.

She thought about the mysterious turian who’d responded to her unconscious cry. _Keening._ She rolled the word around in her thoughts. Was it something she’d picked up from Garrus? He had made some odd noises in their time together, but none that she would call a keen. Her hand drifted to the bond mark. She’d had it tattooed before it could fade, special ink for her artificially regenerative skin. He had trilled when she showed him that night, and a pleasant shiver ran through her when she remembered what he’d done next.

The elevator chimed before she could indulge the memory, and she growled frustration at the impertinence of its timing. She sat heavily on the mech and rolled it out to the dim hall. There was a new guard stationed at the heavy doors, and she put her hand up as Shepard drew near. 

“I’m sorry, ma’am, you can’t be here.”

Shepard glared at her. “I most certainly can be here. Where’s Benedict?”

“He called in today, ma’am, and name dropping won’t help you. Now turn around and head back upstairs, before I have to call security.”

“Okay. Listen, officer—?”

“Officer Bialo.”

“Listen, Officer Bialo, you’re new here, so I’ll start pleasant. You don’t recognize me, so you haven’t been watching the newsfeeds. You’re in C-Sec blues, so you’re probably missing your friends.” The woman stiffened. Shepard sighed; she knew what that felt like. “How about this.” She drew herself up, puffed out her chest, and said, “I’m Commander Shepard, and this is my favorite floor in the hospital.”

Officer Bialo’s eyes grew huge. “Commander Shepard! I am so sorry— I didn’t recognize… what happened to your _hair?"_

Shepard laughed. “They buzzed it when I came in, and they haven’t let me dye it yet.” She ruffled the short auburn curls. “So, can I come in? I have a message for my crew.”

Officer Bialo keyed the code and the doors shifted open. “Take your time, Commander.”

Shepard grinned. “I intend to,” she said.

The doors clicked shut behind her, and she turned to the QEC console. An indicator beeped softly, a message waiting for her. “Play message,” she said.

Garrus’s image blinked to life in front of her. She gasped. He looked awful, even in the pixelated mess of the communicator. He was wearing civvies, his eyes were sunken, and there seemed to be a whole lot less of him than she remembered. “Hey, Shepard. I know this," a gesture to his frail body, "seems bad, but things are looking up. We found a Hierarchy wreck today, dextro rations for almost a whole cruiser and we recovered all of them. No more level one. Tali almost fainted when she saw them, but that might have been the two months of starvation rations.

“There was a bunch of levo food too, and the cargo bay is full up with fuel and ship parts. It’s not pretty, but it’ll do the job. One or two more salvage runs like that, and we can make a straight line to Earth.” He smiled, and her heart ached to see the pain in it. “I love you, Sloane. Huh. It’s, weirdly easier to say that now.” A sigh. “Vakarian out.” The image fluttered away.

She sat on the mech until her breathing slowed, then pinged the Normandy. No one answered, so she chose to leave another message. They had only managed to talk a handful of times, and there was only so much data the communicator would store. She arranged her thoughts, and pressed record.

“Garrus. It’s such a relief to hear you have food again. It would have been pretty stupid of you to die of starvation after everything else didn’t kill you. It hurts to say this, but you should salvage what you can while you’re out there. The turians here are eating ant… formicid paste while we repair the relay. You’d be a hero if you brought them non-insect snacks.” She smiled. “Well, more of a hero, if that’s possible. I’m healing well. Can’t walk very long without support, but I go farther every day. It helps to have your messages giving me some incentive.” The ten percent alarm beeped. She sighed. “I love you. Bring my crew home safe. Shepard out.” 

She pressed send. She held her head in her hands and counted her breath until the sobs threatening to tear from her chest lessened. _Fly, time. Bring my love back to me._

She let the mech retrace their long path to her room. The hallways murmured wordless life and static under the rushing of her blood. She didn’t speak with anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "That which yields is not always weak." Kushiel trilogy by Jacqueline Carey, and one of my most favorite trilogies of all time.


	7. Home to Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut, glorious smut! No really. Basically a whole chapter of fluffy, smutty smut. I should probably bump the rating up to explicit after this. Just, go ahead and skip this one, Mom.

_Through sleet and snow and storm and hail_

Shepard was singing in the shower. She’d maintained a love of long, steamy showers all through her life, starting with her Gran’s home. Her oldest memory was of a shower, drawing on the walls with a bar of soap, watching colors swirl in the suds. When Gran was sent to the hospital, the showers had stopped. 

_Through every degradation and betrayal_

Gran had died, and she slipped through the hands of those who’d tried to hold her. She cut her hair and passed as a boy, moving from place to place before anyone could get too suspicious. Between hunger and determination, her body stayed that way for a long time. Until the summer at the farm. The farm was part of a government outreach program. She’d fallen in with a bad crowd. The long arm of the law scooped them up, jostled their perceptions, and set them loose. She learned a lot that summer. Biology. Physics. Thermodynamics. Two of the boys from her gang revealed her lie. They tried to rape her. She broke their bones and singed every hair from their skin. She learned that she was a biotic. The government took a renewed interest. They began to hone her raw power, and her wan remorse, into a peerless weapon.

_Through rhyme and reason and beyond the pale_

She was sent to a special school. She took special classes to catch up. She reeled at everything she’d never known. Her mind developed a taste for knowledge. By the time she was eighteen, she had completed a dual degree in fine arts and Earth history, and a masters in xenobiology. She enlisted in the Alliance to see the stars. She often wondered if it was her choice, but always decided it no longer mattered.

_Darling, I will love you till the bitter end, and all the bitter moments, till then_

She learned to keep her showers short in basic. She dyed her hair red the day before she reported for duty. She did well. She shipped out. She fought a thresher maw while her team died around her. She didn’t like to think about that.

_Through time and tomb and Tim and Tom_

There were men, of course. Handsome men, homely men, some women too, but they all made her laugh. Until they didn’t. Or couldn’t. 

_Through pro and con, and quid pro quo, and qualm_

Alenko wanted to be one of them, but he didn’t make her laugh. His needs were too sharp, his perception too dull, and anyway, he died. Her call. Before she had accepted her place in the ruthless calculus of this war. 

_Through tidal wave and asteroid and bomb_

Garrus, though. He tickled her. His cocky bullshitting, his earnest naivete that ended so often with his digitigrade foot in his mouth. After she died, she returned to find herself laughing with him, far more often than at him. His growth appealed to her. Later, she realized the rest of him did as well.

_Darling, I will love you till the bitter end_

Leaving him again was one of the hardest things she’d done. Harder than telling Alenko to stay and die, harder than blowing a relay and leaving an entire system nothing but ash drifting in the solar wind. She had parsed the ruthless calculus, but the personal calculus was trickier. Guilt still twanged her chest when she remembered seeing him on Menae as Earth burned. She was just, happy, in that moment when he rolled up to the command post, receiving salutes from generals. Her turian, by her side at the end of everything.

_and all the bitter moments, till then_

Steam rolled from the top of the shower and fogged the glass. She had been clean for some time, her fingers pruned, her hair, finally red again after nearly six months, slick and full of water. She opened her mouth to sing the final verse, but a click on the glass made her whirl around, biotics flaring. Then, she heard his voice pick up where she’d left off.

_And when your charms begin to fade_

A rich baritone, two perfect octaves lower then hers, cut through the thick air. He was here. She didn’t know which way was up, so she sang the next line with him.

_And when you feel old and afraid_

He slid the door open and stepped in. They regarded each other, neither one quite sure the other was real. His plates were dull from malnutrition, a large part of her right thigh was missing, and they both should have died long before this. He waited. She moved to him first. She’d spent her life making moves when no one else would. It was second nature. 

_I’ll scratch beneath your shoulder blade and whisper_

Her voice cracked when she made contact. The scalding water streamed down, washing her tears away before she knew she was crying. He stroked her back and sang the next lines.

_My love is deeper than I show. Remember what I said, through sleet and snow_

The rumble in his chest steadied her. She took a deep breath, rested against his rough plates, and finished the song with him.

_So even though I know you have to go  
Darling, I will love you till the bitter end, and all the bitter moments till then_

“Hey,” he said when the last note faded.

“Hey,” she replied. 

———

_Five hours earlier…_

The Normandy dropped out of FTL. The team was assembled shoulder to shoulder on the flight deck, the crew one deck lower in port observation. A cloudswept blue planet filled their view, glittering wreckage forming slow rings around its equator. Small ships moved carefully through the battlefield, reclaiming what could be used, shifting what could not into the plane of refuse circling the planet. Garrus hummed, impressed by the elegance of their solution.

“London to Normandy, come in.”

“Normandy here. Requesting dry dock coordinates.”

“Coordinates sent. Do you require a load out?”

“Affirmative. We stopped by the depot on our way home.”

A static chuckle. “We’ll have a team waiting. Welcome back, Normandy.”

Welcome back.

…

He dismissed them the moment the doors yawned open. They scattered across the base, hungry for news of loved ones and hometowns, new tech and fleet numbers. Liara and Javik chose to stay on the ship, tied to their consoles and each other, always. Garrus wrung a promise from them as he called the elevator. He stopped at the cargo bay to check in with the longshoremen. Assured of their competence, he left the ship.

A wet slap of cold air assaulted him as he walked across the tarmac. Two messages waited for him at the port of entry. The first, a general welcome and invitation to call on the admirals at his earliest convenience. The second seared his blood and sent pinpricks racing over his skin. Muscle memory saw him through customs and into a cab.

…

“Ah, Mr. Vakarian. The Commander told us to expect you later today. No no, it’s no trouble. The room is keyed to you, simply press your thumb to the pad for entry. Do you have additional luggage? Excellent. Please ring the front desk if there is anything we can do for you. Anything at all. Thank you for your business, and enjoy your stay.”

Garrus tried and failed to steady his breath as he walked down the newly painted hall. Every nerve screamed at him to run, to tear up the fifty flights of stairs when the elevator took too long to arrive, to kick down the door when the keypad glitched and scanned his print twice. He could hear her through the thin walls, singing in the shower.

The lock clicked open. He entered soft, boots hushed on the thick carpet. He closed the door with care, slid the lock home. He swept the room with his sniper’s eye. The heavy curtains were closed. He stood in a small entry hall, a dark office to his right, good for flanking would-be intruders. The hall opened to a sitting area, vidscreen on one wall, some abstract painting on the other, and flowed into a tiny kitchenette and adjoined table. The table looked solid, good for taking light rounds if flipped on its side. Turning to the right again, a sliding door separated sleeping from living areas. He scented soap and damp skin. He opened the door.

A large, circular bed dominated the room. He rumbled awe at her perception, and her resourcefulness. He’d have to ask where she found a turian bed. Later. His talons unbuckled, unlatched, unlaced his soft clothing under their own power and he left it a pile on the floor. He unhooked his visor, set it with care on a side table. She was coming to his favorite verse. He tapped on the opaque glass, and his plates clenched at the buzz of her biotics when she realized she was no longer alone. He couldn’t let the song end. He picked up the tune in his lower register.

_And when your charms begin to fade…_

———

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” she said. “Guess you got my message.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve heard Commander Shepard doesn’t like to be kept waiting. We docked early. I figured the crew deserved some extra R&R after our last mission went so far sideways.”

“Garrus. Stop talking.” She drew his head down to hers, rested her forehead against him for a moment before sliding her cheek full against his. Her fingers swept up the back of his neck and she could feel him shiver and respond. He wrapped his long arms around her and she used this balance to vault onto his hips. Her ankles crossed behind him. He held her easily and she marveled anew at his strength. She felt his plates shift, his tip seeking, finding. He fixed her with his gaze, both eyes clear, seeing all of her. _Please,_ she breathed. 

He surged, buried himself to the hilt and the pressure of her thighs on his waist had him ridged in no time at all. He nipped her clavicle, drew his long tongue up her neck and she dipped her head to catch it in her mouth. She wrapped her lips around it and pulled with her own tongue, forming a gentle suction. He rumbled and drew out a shiver of her own while he kneaded her buttocks with blunted talons as he drove into her again, and again, and again. She reared back, grabbed his shoulders, shifted against his plates to find the sweet spot, the ridge made just for her, and she ground against him as the crest of her orgasm crashed over them. She felt him strain for a moment, then give in to the tumbling rush of desire and loss and relief to spend himself, the pulse of his release sparking a ricochet in her.

He leaned them against the shower wall, his cock retreating to the protection of his plates. The water, still blessedly hot, streamed around them. “I didn’t know you could sing,” she said, breathless.

“All turians sing,” he replied. She hummed. He looked from side to side. “What do you say, we dry off and, ah, find something to do?”

She grinned as she cut the water. “All I want to do is right in front of me,” she said. 

“Mmm, that’s my girl. We could see if that bed in there is the real deal, or a cheap knockoff.” 

They dried each other, unable to keep from touching, hungry for contact that reassured yes, this was real.

“How will you know the difference?” She arched her back as he ran the towel down her sides and trailed the soft edge of his talons over the flare of her hips. 

He dropped the towel, circled a talon around the hinge of her thigh. She leaned into him and shifted her leg away. He circled lower, drawing up the inner side. She mewled, breath catching in her chest as heat pooled in her core, anticipating, aching for his touch. “A fake won’t survive what we’re about to do to it.” 

He parted her folds and growled to feel her response. His finger slipped in, one delicious joint at a time, until she felt his knuckle rest against her. She squirmed against him and his growl increased as he pressed up and in, drew back, and pressed again. She felt his plates shift, his slick tip hot on her lower back. She tried to turn but he held her, rumbling a tone of wicked insubordination. She felt him unsheathe completely, the length of him pressing into her, sliding against her ass in concert with the building tension in her core. She moaned again, her hips bucking in his iron hold. His thumb drifted to her clit, stroked just to the side and she cried out as the tension sweetened to erupt in her, the waves of her release making her lean heavily on him when he slid his hand away. 

Once she could stand again, she turned to him, the trail of his arousal cooling on her back as she devoured him with her eyes. She had almost forgotten the gentle curve, the ridges, the fleshy reality of him against his rough exterior. She took his hand and led him to the bed. She pressed him down to the mattress. He allowed it, watching her with his predator’s gaze. She began at his neck, small teeth nipping up as her hands ran down, tracing his cowl, the plates at his ribs. She reached the softness behind his mandible and exhaled, sudden chill and he shivered, his hips twitching against her. She smiled and slid down him to bring her mouth level with her hands, her chest, a small breast, her neck brushing his slick, straining skin. She wrapped her lips around him and he twitched again, his control slipping as she pressed him, the seal of her mouth drawing him close, so close.

He snarled and jerked away, threw the bunched sheets across the room and towered over her, an edifice of bone and plate and power and need. She reached for him, pulled him down with her own secret strength, and he plunged into her as she wrapped him in pressure, warmth, home. He was home. She dug into his back with her sharp nails and felt him shudder and stiffen, felt him throb deep within her as his growl cut off with a gasp.

She expected his usual swift withdrawal, but he surprised her. He shifted them to lie on their sides, their bodies entangled and joined. He drew his hand through her hair, watching the strands catch and fall as they slid from his rough fingers. He purred. “Can we stay here, like this, for a while?” He looked at her, searching.

“I thought you’d never ask,” she said. He leaned his forehead against hers and moved closer still, a pleasant shifting within her as he did. “I looked for you, Garrus. I found echoes of you in the strangest places.”

“Mm, yeah? I looked for you, too. The night I got your first message, the one that you were alive, I went to my cliff. I’d gone there a lot, measuring the drop, how long I would live, depending on whether I rolled or fell.” Her eyes widened, and he stroked her temple. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t have done it. Anyway, I went to that cliff, but that night I didn’t look down. I looked up. There was a herd of big mammals below me, and for the first time I noticed a waterfall just a few steps away. When I breathed in, it was almost like you were sitting next to me again.” His hand stilled, its weight an anchor keeping her from floating away. “That’s when I knew, I would always come back to you,” he said. 

She breathed him in, his dry, cardamom and clove and something _else_ scent. “I woke up on the Citadel,” she began. “I must have been in shock. I couldn’t feel my body, and I couldn’t move. Like, I was a soul trapped in the aftermath of every decision I’d ever made.” He shifted closer to her. “At first I was a collection of impulses, just electricity jumping from one point to the next, but then I felt this, presence. If I were religious I’d have called it god… but it was probably a self-preservation protocol Cerberus installed with their other upgrades." A shiver ran down her spine and she tensed around him. He rumbled and pressed into her, drawing a sigh from her lips. "Whatever it was, it made me focus beyond the Citadel closing around me and out to the stars. The second one I saw was Rigel.” She smiled and swept her thumb over his scarred colony markings. “Rigel’s blue. It’s stupid, but I felt like, maybe it meant you were out there, looking back at me.”

He chuffed. “What's the human saying? There are no atheists in foxholes? Or on ruined space stations and unnamed planets, I guess. I’m definitely here now, though.” He twitched within her for emphasis. She grinned at him, a long-missed softness flooding her body.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” he replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shepard is singing "Till the Bitter End" by the Magnetic Fields. I don't know why their songs keep popping up here. Maybe because Stephin Merritt is one of the best love song troubadours? No idea, but here's a pretty video set to that song.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dUttzhmLyQw
> 
> Garrus's cliff inspired by Björk's Hyperballad. Hi, I'm old.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CgRI0hmKml8
> 
> I'm thinking about writing a post-script discussing my choices and influences at the end of this. Not sure how kosher that is in fanfic since I'm new here.


	8. Home Tonight

_Tap… tap… tap… tap_

“Mmm,” Shepard didn’t want to get up. The bed shifted under her, plush mattress sinking beneath her weight as the netting below creaked in its knots. She certainly saw the appeal of the design, doubly so after the hard use it had just survived. “Five more minutes, mom.” Garrus threw a pillow at her. Direct hit. _Well, someone hasn’t lost his touch._

“No more minutes. The cab will be here in twenty. I don’t mind if you make your triumphant return without, a, stitch, of clothing on, but I’m in the minority.” He trailed a talon down her side as he spoke, shivery tickles cascading from his touch. She pulled him down on the bed and threw a leg over his waist. He thrummed, tempted. No time, though, so he hooked his toes over the frame and rolled them both out of bed. “Come on, Sloane. You’ll like this. I promise.” 

She grumbled and reached for her black working uniform, but stopped at the half-lidded look of disapproval on her mate’s face. “What.”

“Far be it from me to tell the great Commander Shepard how to dress, but I’d be a bad boyfriend if I didn’t tell you that’s a choice you’ll regret in about… three hours.”

“Oh? What’s happening in three hours?”

“That, would be telling.” 

“You choose for me, then. I’m gonna do something with this,” she gestured loosely to her hair and face. “Just remember it’s cold as balls out there. That leather dress you like so much is right out.” Garrus grumbled a willing defeat as he went to the closet.

She studied herself in the mirror. The last few months free from the weight of saving existence as everyone knew it had done wonders for her complexion. A sweep of blush, a brush of shadow, a slick of gloss. Done.

When she returned to the bedroom, she found Garrus dressed in his black civvies, leaning against the wall. There was a neat stack of soft clothing on the bureau. A black velvet box rested on the cloth. She froze. “Is that…”

“Mmhm,” Garrus watched her. “You left it behind when we disembarked here last time. I thought about taking offense, but then I realized, I’d get to see you accept all over again. And they say you can’t turn back time.” She lifted the box and crossed to him. He took it from her and opened it to reveal the gleaming band within. “What do you say, Shepard? Still up for being a one-turian woman?”

“Always,” she said. He slid the ring on her finger, gripped her hand in his, and raised it to his mouth. She’d never gone for jewelry before, but she often found herself twisting the finger where it had been in the hospital. She did it again when he let go, and sighed. She looked down at the ring, the smooth line of platinum, its silvery sheen inlaid with a band of pure thulium the jeweler had sealed within clear diamond. She wrapped her arms around his neck, rested her cheek against his. “Thank you.” He stroked her back, his fingers curled to give her the smooth side of his talons.

“You’re welcome. Now get dressed. Can’t have you getting arrested for indecent exposure so soon after your release.”

She left his warmth and held up the first item. “Ah, I thought you might notice this. I was right to trust you.” She pulled the heavy, slinky material over her head and loved every centimeter as it slid down her body. The black of it was absolute, until light hit it at just the right angle and revealed silver threads that ran scattershot throughout. Its asymmetrical hem began just below her left hip and trailed to her right ankle, neatly obscuring the trauma her right leg had endured. He had included thick, silky leggings in a thoughtful touch, equally black but without the silver accent. She settled the cowl around her neck and gave a twirl for him. He rumbled appreciation, pulled her to himself and ran his fingers over the luxurious cloth. She opened her lips for his questing tongue, and they were interrupted by the comm’s sudden ring. “Shit,” she growled.

“Skycab here for a Mr. Vakarian,” the voice said. 

They shrugged into their heavy overcoats. “So, are you going to tell them you’re way more than a mister, or am I?” she asked. 

He huffed. “They can call me whatever they want. I've already won every battle worth winning.” She slipped her soft boots on and took his offered arm. “Ready, Shepard?” 

She nodded. “Ready.”

———

London was a shock. Dark, heavy clouds obscured the sun, the city unsaturated in a grey half-light. Cranes dominated the shattered skyline, right angles jutting in defiance of the destruction that surrounded them. Dust rose in massive shafts of artificial illumination as crews excavated the ruins of ruins, steel and glass collapsed on ancient stone, which had in turn fallen on catacombs and subway lines. Most telling was what was absent. There were no Reapers in London; only their outlines remained. 

Garrus picked out a few buildings left standing, a hospital here, a barracks there, and just ahead of them was Heathrow. Somewhere in that warren of shops and tarmac, his other true love waited. He squeezed Shepard’s thigh. She slid her hand under his, laced their fingers together. “It’s incredible,” he said.

“Hmm?”

“London. All of… this.”

“You saw it coming in…?”

“Ha. You think I saw anything after the message you sent?”

“Oh come— it wasn’t… it’s not like it was explicit.”

“‘Garrus, I’m finally out of the hospital. They put me up at the Langham in the most ridiculous suite I’ve ever seen. I let the front desk know you’re joining me. I have the best surprise waiting for you. Love always…’”

She laughed. “I was talking about the bed! I thought it would be nice if you didn’t need to make a nest out of every pillow in the hotel for once.”

“Well, it was the first nice surprise of the morning. Not the nicest, but definitely the first.” He nuzzled her ear. _Spirits,_ he thought as he inhaled his scent on her skin, _I missed this._ She turned to catch his mouth with hers. His eyes widened, glanced at the cabbie piloting the car. She murmured a small negation _\- don’t worry about him -_ and parted her lips to trace the edge of his mouth with her tongue. He answered her, blue meeting pink with a stroke and a twirl, a warm rumble filling the small space. She pitched a hum in harmony with his, and as they sat in the cab they fell into a different place, soft, dark and safe. 

All too soon they arrived at their destination and tumbled from the cab, drunk and stupid on their desire. Her boot snagged on a pothole and her leg gave way. He caught her, shifted her momentum into a dip. She slid her thigh up his and arched into it, a breathless giggle in her throat. “Got you,” he purred.

“Just like old times, hey Garrus?” He drew them vertical again.

“Just like old times.”

———

The first thing to hit her was the smell. Ozone and industrial cleaners, cardboard, cheap soap, old sweat. She was nineteen again, her first ship as the latest FNG in a long line of FNGs. The pressure of Garrus’s hand at the small of her back retrieved her. She took a deep breath, and stepped onto the ship. Her ship.

They walked down the deserted CIC. “Not a hair out of place, Garrus. Nice work.”

“Mmm, there may be a few more scratches in the railing at command,” he said. 

She patted his arm. “If that’s all the damage you did to my ship while you starved yourself half to death, I’ll allow it.”

“We also had a party in the shuttle bay, then stuffed it full of space junk and highly explosive compounds.”

“You had a party?”

“Yes, that’s the key part of what I just said.”

“Huh. I might have to fight you for most beloved captain, after all.”

He gave her a cool glance. “I could take you in a fair match, but I’ve heard you play dirty.”

She raised an eyebrow as she called the elevator. “They don’t come any dirtier if it concerns _my_ ship.”

His hand grew heavier. “Noted.”

She wrapped an arm around his waist, drawing a purr from him as they rode the elevator down.

The door slid open to reveal the shuttle bay. All the space junk and explosives had been carted out, and a lone crew member ran a buffer over the smooth surfaces. He switched it off and snapped to a salute when he noticed them. “Captain Vakarian, sir!” Shepard gave him a hard stare. He purpled when he recognized her. “Uh, um, I mean, Commander Shepard! Sir! Ma’am!”

She softened her expression. “At ease, soldier.” He dropped to parade rest, breathing hard and not remotely at ease. She turned to Garrus. “So, should I expect more of this, _Captain_ Vakarian?”

“Well, with that dress, and this new hair, and the whole being MIA for a month and then a few hundred light years away…”

“You can just say yes, you know.”

“Yes. Yep. You should definitely expect more of, this.” 

She shook her head and turned to the poor guy they’d caught in their game. “All’s forgiven, soldier. As you were.”

“Yes ma’am! Thank you ma’am! Sir!” He grabbed the buffer and just about ran to the utility closet. 

“They had a crew through here already, looks like. Handful of things out of place, and Vega isn’t going to like what they did to his bench, but she looks good, Garrus.”

Garrus chuckled. “ _They_ didn’t do anything to Vega’s bench. That’s all Ash.”

It was Shepard’s turn to laugh. “Ah, young love. I did see something between them at my apartment that night. Are they good together?” Garrus gave her his best _search me_ expression, and she grinned. “That! That right there is why it’s no contest. You can make the Normandy work, no doubt, but I make her sing.”

He gathered her into his arms, stroked her face with his gloved finger. “Everyone worked their asses off to bring us back. It wasn’t just that we were lost, or homesick.” He leaned his head on hers. “I’m not the only one on this ship who loves you, Shepard. I’m just the luckiest.”

She swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. It made her voice husky, in a way she hoped was more sexy than pathetic. “Well well well, look who upped his sweet talking game in my absence. Keep that up and I’ll have to see you in my quarters later, _Captain.”_

He rumbled a note she could only feel. “Later? I’m taking you there now. Saving the best for last, as they say.” He led her to the elevator. She couldn’t be certain whether her gait was unsteady from the walking, or the waiting.

To her great disappointment, Garrus seemed content to wait. When the door to his, her… their quarters finally whisked open, he took both her hands and just about dragged her into the room. He trilled an expectant note. “Well?”

He had redecorated. Her bed was replaced by a turian model. The couch and low table were gone too, but she noticed with satisfaction that their favorite armchair made the cut. He had put a bar along the wall where the couch had been, high stools strapped beneath it. Somehow, the fish were still alive. 

The main event, though, was the huge amount of space he managed to reclaim from a fairly small room. She looked at him, eyebrow arched. He grinned, spreading his arms _eh? eh? not bad, hey?_ and moved to the stereo. Shepard flinched, expecting harsh asari club music, but instead a sultry, human beat filled the room. He swept her to the middle of their private dance floor. “You like?”

“Mm. It’s certainly, different.”

“You will. Cortez has been giving me dance lessons.”

“Bless that man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon, headcanon everywhere! You get headcanon! And you get headcanon! Everyone gets headcanon!
> 
> The favorite armchair is a reference to ReginaPrimata's glorious, affecting, and v-e-r-y explicit comic, First Contact. I needed a cigarette after that, and I haven't smoked a day in my life. 
> 
> Cortez teaching Garrus to dance is something I saw in Mysti_Fogg's adorable story, Only I Can Make Her Dance.
> 
> Also, this is the end of the first set of titles. The last chapters of this work will have titles taken from The Dismemberment Plan's song, Back and Forth.


	9. In Search of the Moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, this is a party chapter. It's fluffy and happy and there's a speech and a twinge of anxiety at the beginning but also a four paragraph long tango. And a banquet.
> 
> No ragrets.

_Clink, tink tink, scraaape, fssh, distant laughter, leather reverb._

Shepard understood the dress at last. Garrus led her through the amber lights and polished oak of the main dining room to a long hallway narrowed by empty gilt frames. Right turn, left, left, right, up a flight of stairs, “Where are you taking me, exactly—” a pleased hum. He stopped at a velvet curtain. Waited. She rolled her eyes and brushed it aside.

“SHEPARRRRD! She’s here _shemadeit_ HEY COMMANDER _luminous_ Shep! Sight for sore eyes- _neverseenhim_ Sheeeeparrrrd whatchu drinkin- _happier_ TOAST! Toast! Toast toast TOAST TOAST!”

She held up her hands in defeat as every surviving member of her squad crowded her and shouted for a few choice words. A glass was pressed into her hand and she raised it. “To all you magnificent bastards!” They cheered. “And, to those who are gone. Their sacrifice was not in vain.” They quieted, a moment of silence observed. She looked up and spoke to each one directly. “I have never seen a tougher, smarter, better looking band of brothers,” laughter, whoops, _yeah you know it_ s and wolf whistles. She grinned at them for a moment before becoming serious. They looked to her. 

“Before the Normandy, a cycle of fear and hate reigned in this galaxy. Fear of the other, fear of change. We _broke_ that cycle. We showed the known universe, that organic and synthetic could not only abide each other, but thrive together.” Shifts, murmurs, nods. “We stood up to a billion year old system of exploitation and horror on a galactic scale, and we _won.”_ Cheers, a whistle, but she held up a hand. “We won, because we learned to trust each other. We learned to combine our strengths, to forgive our weaknesses, and from our example, the rest of the galaxy learned to do the same. So, here’s to the Normandy, author of change, and _breaker_ of chains!” She drained her glass to the raucous, sharp edged din of people who had faced annihilation, and survived.

Vega and Cortez were the first to approach her. Cortez rested his hand at her elbow, unsure until she swept him into a bear hug. He was a good hugger, she noted with satisfaction. Vega greeted her with a handshake and a slap on the back, still a bit cagey after all this time.

Cortez spoke first. “Shepard." Her name sounded like a prayer on his lips. “You’re really here. I can’t believe… I made the plaque, for the wall… Garrus,” he shook his head and laughed, “that stubborn old bastard wouldn’t let us hang it, ‘Give her more time,’ he said. I thought he was just grieving. Hell, I know what that’s like, but he was right all along.”

Vega jumped in. “Yeah man, he kept the faith. He was pretty beat up when you had them evac'ed. They had to cut his armor off with the plasma blade. It's a good thing you had him in the heavy or he’d look a whole lot worse. Chakwas had him gelled and bandaged in record time, but he just sat in the med bay for _days._ I even heard her yell at him a couple times.” 

Shepard felt her heart slow, and Cortez gave her a worried look. Vega kept going. “She got him on his feet for your memorial, but he took the plaque back to his hidey hole in the battery!” She was having trouble breathing. Cortez put an arm around her, and she leaned into him. “Man, people were _pissed._ Then two weeks later we got the message that you were alive. I was like, damn, he was right the whole…” Vega finally noticed. He cleared his throat. “Look at me running my mouth. So uh, how are you?”

She swallowed. She needed to get out of there. “Healing. Still get those dreams sometimes,” he nodded. “I’m ah, gonna grab a drink. Need anything?”

“Nah, we’re good,” he tipped his head to the table where Ash and Traynor were sitting. “Started without you. See you, commander.” He left, but Cortez stayed with her a moment longer. He caught her chin, made her look at him, _you okay?_ She managed a half smile, and he wrapped her in another hug before trailing behind his friend. 

Reeling, Shepard walked to the bar. “Double scotch, neat. Something peaty if you have it.” She hoped they’d have a proper Islay in a place like this, but after the Reapers, who knew what remained. Liara came up and rested a hand on her shoulder, a flicker of emotion in her touch. Shepard turned and they embraced, eyes closed, a shared vision of that fleeting sunrise. The bands around her chest softened. “Liara,” she said, watching her friend’s eyes clear. 

“Hello, Shepard… hm. I didn’t think I would ever say that again.”

Shepard reached for her drink. “If it weren’t for you, no one would have.”

Liara smiled. “Yes, I suppose that’s true. I overheard your conversation with James. How are you?”

“It was… jarring. I knew Garrus was hurt, but I’ve been so focused on getting better and bringing you all home… I hadn’t thought about what he'd gone through. Chakwas doesn’t yell, not unless she thinks you’re giving up.” She searched Liara for a reaction. “Was he? Giving up?”

“I think that is a question you should ask him, but only if you are certain you want an answer.”

Shepard pondered her drink. It was blended. The smooth, sweet burn didn’t suit her mood at all. She sighed. “So, you and Javik, huh?” She grinned to watch her friend blush.

“Yes. To think, I spent my life studying the protheans, only to find myself sharing a bed with one. He is… unlike anything in this galaxy.”

“Hot tip, you feel that way when you love someone. Doesn’t matter how big the extended family is.”

Liara smiled. “Maybe so.”

“So, how’s business? Must be hard with the comm relays out.”

“It is. The Normandy could be in the midst of a battlefield, and I would know what was happening on the other side of the galaxy. Now, we are experiencing an unprecedented level of interspecies coordination, and I am almost entirely blind.” She sighed. “Perhaps it is for the best. The amount of influence I had… it frightened me at times.”

“Well, I certainly slept easier knowing the person pulling the strings was on our side.”

Liara smiled. “Thank you.”

Tali swayed over to the bar. “I’ll have another, please, thank you. Hmm, and a… straw.”

Shepard cuffed her shoulder, just enough to bobble her. “Hey Tali, no love for your old boss?”

“Sheparrrd!” She raised her arms and collapsed against her. Shepard stepped back to steady them, laughing. She’d forgotten how slight Tali was, even with the added weight of the envirosuit. Tali looked up at her. “You, were dead. Again. I need you to stop doing that to me. It feels… exactly, as bad. Each time.” She rested her head against Shepard’s chest. “I missed you.”

Shepard patted her back with her free hand. “I missed you too, Tali. Even though you still can’t hold your liquor.” The smaller woman giggled. “The Normandy looks great, by the way. Some of your repairs are ingenious.”

“Quarian… resourcefulness. I told you, many pockets…” she hiccuped. “Ergh, I need to change my filter. Don’t go, anywhere.” She bumped into Javik as she staggered away.

Javik faced Shepard, his four eyes appraising her in a way none of the other crew had dared. “Commander.”

She inclined her head. “Javik.”

“Is it your intention to resume command of the Normandy?”

“It is.”

“Do you think that is wise, considering your… current state?”

“Meaning?”

“Your right leg has sustained considerable trauma, which affects your strength and balance. Your mind is fractured. The conflicting thoughts will hinder your ability to make impartial decisions. You are not… as you were.”

Liara covered her face with her palm. Shepard gave him a bland look. “We’re doing this now, are we?”

“I see no reason to delay.”

“No, you wouldn’t. It’s a fair assessment, so I’ll give you a straight answer. The leg is temporary. I was impaled in the rubble on the Citadel, and whatever tech Cerberus put in me sectioned off the wound and killed the muscle. It kept me alive, but I lost a chunk of my thigh. A replacement muscle group is being grown as we speak. In two weeks, I’ll go under again and come out, good as new.

“As for my mind, I appreciate the concern, but it’s being managed. The Alliance has a vested interest in seeing me back in command of the Normandy. They won’t risk the mission by pushing me beyond my limit. Not again.”

Javik maintained his cool gaze for a moment. “Very well. I look forward to your return.” Shepard watched him walk to their table.

“Shepard, I’m sorry—”

“No, don’t be. First, you don’t ever need to apologize for him or anyone else. Second,” she sighed, “it was a fair question. Better to get it out now than keep everyone waiting.” She sipped her disappointing whisky. 

Liara smiled. “For what it is worth, I never doubted you.”

Shepard took her hand and held it to her chest. “It’s worth the world, Liara. All of them.”

A violet blush rose in her cheeks, and she excused herself to return to Javik.

Shepard surveyed the scene, enjoying the moment of repose. Wrex, Grunt, and Vega were deep in some byzantine game of strength, cheered on by Ash and Traynor. Liara and Javik sat together in the darkest corner of the dim room, seeing all and seen by few. Tali had returned. She leaned heavily on Garrus and giggled to herself as he and Cortez spoke with surprising animation, their hands making gestures and shapes she couldn’t follow. 

Joker pulled himself onto a neighboring stool, EDI trailing behind. “Hey, commander! Good to see you back in the land of the living.”

“Joker! EDI! The more things change, hey?”

Joker gave a tentative smile. “Yeah. It’s been… different. Garrus did a hell of a job keeping everyone moving, but we missed the shit out of you. _I’ve_ been point man for all of EDI’s questions since she woke up. It’s a good thing you gave me a template to work with, otherwise…”

“Jeff has been an exemplary model of organic behavior. I am honored to meet the one who prepared him for my, education. Early on, I detected a tendency on his part to deflect certain lines of questioning with humor. When pressed, however, he turned to a message he received prior to my sudden and unexpected deactivation. It seemed to give him, courage. I read it as well. You were very eloquent.” She tilted her head. “Thank you, Sloane.”

Shepard grinned. “The more things change,” she repeated. 

Joker cleared his throat. “So did I hear you right? You’re getting a new leg and coming back to the Normandy?”

“That’s the plan. Hackett’s been up my ass for weeks now, trying to wrangle a meeting with the board. I told him we’d talk when I had my crew back. Well, you’re back. Can’t put it off any longer.”

“He let you talk to them like that?”

“What’s he gonna do, fire me? Throw me in the brig again? Ask the _other_ Commander Shepard if she’s available?”

“Well, since you threw her off a moving spaceship…”

Shepard winced. “That, was not my finest moment.”

Joker grinned. “She’s lucky it was you and not EDI.”

“Joker is correct. I discovered a log of that incident. It took several seconds to process the number of subroutines I experienced in response. I felt… rage.”

“And you do NOT want to see her angry, Shepard. It’s even scarier, since she’s still kinda new.”

EDI looked at Joker, fondness in the tilt of her jaw, the angle of her eyes. “Joker spoke to me until it passed. I run point-zero-two-four fewer processes when I revisit the incident.”

“He talked you down. Nice work, Joker. You helped an AI process trauma. I’m… not sure that’s ever been done before.”

“It sounds way more noble when you put it like that. I was just trying to keep the ship flying straight.”

“Joker’s being humble. EDI is just about back to her old self, and it’s all his doing.” Garrus leaned on the bar to Shepard’s other side, very much in her personal space. She leaned into him, escalating, and was rewarded with a low thrum as his arms snaked around her waist. 

Joker rolled his eyes. “Oookay, I know when I’ve overstayed my welcome. You lovebirds have fun, I’m gonna go bleach my eyeballs.”

“Bleach will have several detrimental effects if applied to your eyes, Jeff. If you wish to clear your recent memories, I recommend a blunt force trauma to the head.” Everyone looked at her. “That was a joke.”

Shepard laughed. “You still got it, EDI. Welcome back.”

She helped Joker off the stool. “Likewise. I look forward to working with you on the Normandy, commander.”

Garrus and Shepard watched them go. A surge of something she could only call love swept over her as she watched them, her crew, from the arms of the finest man she’d ever known. A small voice whispered that she didn’t deserve such sweetness. Garrus ran his thumb across her stomach, snapping her out of it and she thought back fiercely, _no._ She deserved _every bit_ of this. They all did.

As if on cue, a familiar thread of music slipped between the mixed voices and clinking ice. There was a catch in Garrus’s breath as he moved to face her. She saw Cortez watching them and he lifted his glass, grinning.

“They’re playing our song, Shepard.” Garrus offered his hand. She took it, sliding from the barstool to flow around him, the dress trailing, catching the light in a thousand delicate shimmers. The room went silent but for the slinky, sexy cadence of the tango. 

She spun away from him, left hand on her hip and right arm raised as if to take the hand of a much taller partner. He moved to her with the beat, his body a mirror, right hand in his pocket and left on his chest. Their hips swiveled and their feet flashed discreet twists and kicks until he reached her, demure, waiting for her to accept him. She lifted her left hand in a welcome and he closed, drew her to his side with a hand on her hip, shoulders rolled back as she wrapped them in her embrace. He looked down to her as though to devour, gripped her right hand like something precious, and swept her across the room in a neat pattern of twist and kick, swerve and twirl. She marveled at his perfect control, his impeccable map of every table and chair and shift in rhythm. 

A slender corridor appeared that led directly to the table where Cortez sat alone. Garrus reached across her shoulders to fling her in a tight spin, her trajectory predetermined. She stopped millimeters from Cortez, his crossed legs all that kept her from falling into his lap. She stroked his face with delicate fingertips, which he took to kiss her hand. Garrus snapped the tension between them, pulling her back to his chest and fixing Cortez with a theatrical glare. Their audience laughed, clapped, and paused, expecting the moment to end. Shepard took the lead with her mate distracted, her footwork weaving in his while he kept his eyes on Cortez, mandibles pinched hard against his face to keep from grinning. 

The onlookers caught the gag as the intensity of both dance and glare increased, so that by the time Shepard caught Garrus’s leading foot in a neat block that nearly toppled him, their whoops and cheers could be heard in the main dining room. Garrus shifted his balance to correct and caught her free foot in a lunge. He stretched their legs nearly horizontal to the floor, forcing her to depend entirely on his strength and balance to keep from falling. The room went silent as they dropped. She let her head tilt back, felt her hair brush the parquet as he lifted his gaze slowly, his eyes traveling from her sternum to jaw, her lips, her eyes, and he drew them vertical once more. The song picked back up and they continued the dance to the thunderous applause of many people in a small room.

They moved to a relatively clear area. He shifted his weight to his back leg, the subtle bend of his knee drawing her free leg up in a backwards flick which he stepped in to, pushing against her balance. She brought her leg forward against him for a moment, then snaked it around his waist. His eyes sharpened while their audience whooped; he hadn’t expected her to have an answer quite like that one. She smiled as she released him to slide that leg down the other and set her foot on the parquet with a flourish. He stepped forward between her legs, a deliberate shift to draw her thigh up his. She slid the hand on his shoulders up the back of his neck to draw his forehead down to hers. She felt him shiver as he braced himself against her weight. The song was coming to an end. She hooked her knee on his hip and arched into his arm to fall to a dramatic dip while the last note of the song faded away.

The room erupted into applause. Garrus purred in a voice only she could hear. "You held back. Earlier."

“A girl needs her secrets,” she replied. 

He pulled them back to their feet and they took a bow. Servers laden with trays of house specialties flowed through the room while all eyes were on their captain and commander. When the din faded, they whisked the domes from the long side table and a feast appeared as if conjured. Levo and dextro offerings sat at opposite sides of the banquet, divided by stacks of thick white china and gleaming cutlery. There were salads, stone bowls of steaming rice, roasted vegetables, thick stew, sour and brown breads with a crock of the yellowest butter Shepard had ever seen, and in the center of it all, a whole roasted lamb. On the dextro side was a collection of Quarian grain and vegetable dishes, another stew surrounded by squares of a savory cake, and a massive fish in salt crust flanked by an array of multicolored sauces. 

Sore palms clapped together for the servers, who bowed and took up their serving utensils. Plates filled and drinks poured and they settled themselves around the room, talking little and sighing often. Shepard went Liara and Javik's table. Garrus and Tali had joined them. She raised a sliver of lamb to her mouth, rare and bloody with flecks of garlic and rosemary clinging to the crust. After months of hospital food and years of ship food before that, it was a revelation. “Mmmmph,” she moaned. All heads at the table nodded in agreement. They ate in comfortable silence for a while. She had questions, though. 

“You guys. Are wizards. How did they source this? And where did they manage to find a dextro fish that size, anyway?”

Tali answered. “Aquaculture. New program, after we landed on the homeworld. A team of biologists managed to capture an entire school of qu’arat while we were there, and they converted one of the liveships to hold them. This is a small one, if you can imagine. They are bottom feeders, so they grow fast on scraps. The flesh is… slightly unpleasant to be honest. Muddy tasting. But,” she gestured to the sauces, “with enough sauce, you can make anything taste good.”

Garrus slathered a large chunk and popped it into his mouth. “Mm. It certainly beats that new paste that’s everywhere now. Spirits, I’d almost rather lick the underside of a krogan. What I want to know, is what’s in this stew. This meat is… unlike anything I’ve ever had. In a good way.”

Liara smiled. “It is made from the same ingredients as the paste.” Garrus sputtered and glared at the bowl as though it had fatally betrayed him. “The difference is they have their own supply and make it fresh. It degrades quickly, so the paste you are accustomed to has been chemically stabilized. This is the only establishment in all of London to prepare it in this way. It is also the most popular among dextro races. It was… a challenge to make this reservation on such short notice.”

Shepard grinned through a bite of sourdough. “It’s a good thing I have the foremost information broker in the galaxy on my team, then.”

Garrus was still pushing the stew around, but he sighed and took another bite. He closed his eyes. “Mm, Shepard, your boyfriend has a request. If we are going to be stuck on a ship for any length of time, I’ll need you to find a way to bring this along.”

Tali perked up. “You can, actually. Shepard’s aquarium is an ideal design for both a formicid farm and an aquaculture tank. One side can be filled with earth and plants, the other with water, and both can be designed in a way that is infinitely sustainable. All you need to add is an appropriate spectrum of light and nutrients for the soil.” She paused, feeling the weight of their attention. She wrung her hands. “Well, in theory it will work. No one has tried it yet.”

Shepard slapped the table. “Tali'Zorah vas Normandy, I’ve said it before but I'm gonna say it again. You’re a paragon of your species, and an invaluable part of the crew, and I love you so much right now. Anything you need to make that happen, you got it.” 

“Don’t make me blush, Shepard. It would be to my benefit and that of all the quarian people to perfect a contained system of that size.”

“And I look forward to replacing nutrient paste with _this,”_ Garrus said as he ran a spoon around the bowl to catch the last of the gravy. “A human made this?” Liara nodded. “Damn. He worked a miracle with nothing but bugs and grass. Get his name and ask him if he’d like to see the stars. Tell him we have jet packs.” 

“Garrus, we don’t have any jet packs,” Shepard said.

“I’ll put in a requisition form. Handwritten. In triplicate.” They chuckled into their plates. The food and drink conspired to let the conversation die; the warmth of the primal, pan-species ritual of gathering to share in the bounty overpowering the reflex to fill every silence.

A dessert course was revealed, enjoyed, and cleaned away. The dregs of a coffee and kava service cooled on the tables, and the barkeep wiped his bar for the third time. Skycabs were called, chairs scraped and returned, backs slapped and cheeks kissed and coats buttoned and scarves twirled. They pushed Shepard and Garrus into the first cab to arrive with good-natured jeers. As the car rose up and away from their chosen family, they held within each other a perfect understanding. Whatever trial awaited them, they would face it together.


	10. Between the Seconds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: M-rated drunken shenanigans and heavy angst at the beginning! E-rated smuts at the end! 
> 
> This chapter was brought to you by Brahms’s Symphony No.3, 3rd movement, RJD2, the letters C, H, and O, and the numbers 2 and 5.

“Put me down.”

“Mm, just a little bit… farther.”

“Put me _down.”_

“Almost… have it—”

Shepard rolled her eyes. He was never going to get it in this position. “Garrus. I can walk.”

“That’s not what the state of your dress tells me.”

She giggled. His arm tightened. “Maybe I was just getting it ready for you. Maybe I planned it all, along.”

He looked at her. She snorted. “Shepard, you’re drunk.”

“Mm, gonna arrest me, officer? Handcuff me? Take me, in your squad car…?”

He rolled his eyes and shifted her weight in another futile attempt to unlock their room. He looked at her. She smiled. He sighed defeat and set her down. She leaned heavily on the wall and rested her right heel against the wainscoting, favoring her injured leg. He noticed. “You overdid it. In more ways than one.”

“Yup. It was worth, every… second.”

The scanner beeped at last, and he picked her up as the bolt slid back. She huffed, but she had resigned herself to his protective streak long before this. It was too often the difference between a successful mission, and a failed one. 

Lights faded up as they walked through the suite, leading them to the sitting room. He set her down on a chair and knelt to remove her boots, his gloved fingers delicate on their spattered suede. He knuckled the bottom of each foot as he freed them, then swept his hands down her leg, her ankle, the top of her foot, her toes. She wiggled them and he chuckled. She always thought her feet were weird, but they fascinated him in the same way the rest of her soft, vulnerable skin did. 

He stood up to undress as she watched. The intricacies of turian clothing confounded her still, all those latches, buckles, straps… and he was naked. She blinked. He shook his head. “Lost you for a minute, there. Here, let’s get you in bed.” She took the leggings off and tossed them to the side. He knelt again and ran his fingers under her ruined dress, bunching the fabric up to her hips. She slid off the chair to straddle him as he brought the dress over her head. He dodged her sloppy kiss and she settled against his neck, her fingers tracing the skin inside his cowl.

“Mmm yer warm,” she said. She wondered, not for the first time, what it felt like for him to curl around her several degrees cooler body. “I’m cold.” He started to wrap her up, but she shook her head. “Compared to you. Whassat like?”

He took a moment to parse her question. “Soothing. A lot of this,” he gestured to his plates and fringe, “acts as a heat sink. When I’m with you, you’re my heat sink.” She grinned. He did too, when he realized why. “Hm, Vakarian metaphor strikes again.”

“I like when you talk about heat sinks. And guns. And calibrating…”

“Easy there, sweet talker. Up up up, c’mere, that’s right.” He pulled them to their feet, shuffled to the bed, and eased down with her in his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist to bump against him, giddy and playful. He stroked her hair, humming a sound that was suspiciously like the lullaby she knew so well.

“You tryin to get me to sleep?”

“Mmhm.”

“Garrus.”

“Hm?”

“Why did Chakwas yell at you?”

The song cut out. His fingers froze, then rested heavy on her scalp. Seconds ticked by. Adrenaline coursed through her body, shedding the effects of the alcohol. She waited for him, tracing the outline of his scars. Her regret was instant and overwhelming, but she had asked. She had asked, and he would answer.

“I—” the word caught in his throat. Several more seconds passed. She traced his scars in the opposite direction. 

“I didn’t want to live. After…” He left the bed. He walked to a wall, his back to her, his head down and plates tight. She wanted to go to him, but she waited. He leaned his head on the wall, pressed his hands against it. “When you died the first time, it nearly killed me. It would have. Had you not come for me, exactly when you did… but you were alive, and you still wanted me to, watch your back. I didn’t have anything flashy like a justicar’s oath to give you, but, I made a promise to myself.” He turned around, looked at her. “I would keep you safe. No matter what. No matter how many waves of mercs or collectors you charged, no matter what enemy we faced, I would protect you. And, when I fell under the tank, and you put me, on the ship…” He slid down the wall to a crouch. He keened. 

She understood then, why a turian passerby would stop to offer aid to a stranger. It was every edge of grief, dull and sharp, rising and falling in a vortex of atonal suffering. She crossed the room, covered his body with hers. She hummed the lullaby. Eventually, the keen faded. He took a breath. He wouldn’t look at her. “The only oath of service that ever meant something to me… it was broken. And you were gone.” 

She held him, stroked his cheek, his fringe, his neck. She waited until his heartbeat steadied before she broke the silence. “Garrus. It wasn’t… from the moment I understood the mission, I knew it would end somewhere you couldn’t follow. I was selfish. I tried to take you anyway.” She sighed. “And I was selfish to put you on the ship. I never considered what it would do to you. You're my second. I needed you to command the Normandy. And… I needed you to survive. It was my call to make." She lifted his chin. His eyes met hers. "It was never your fault. Never.”

He rumbled. “That’s what Chakwas said. More or less. It was cold, but effective. I couldn’t let you down, even if you were… not there.”

She made him look at her. “You pulled them together. You brought the Normandy back. You kept your oath, Garrus.” She smiled. “Keep this up, you might become a good turian in spite of yourself.” 

He buried his face in her neck. She held him, humming the lullaby as best she could. After a while, he took several deep, shaky breaths. She held the pressure steady, and began to sing a human lullaby. Her Gran would run the vid when she couldn’t play outside. She still remembered how her chest would clench each time the black and white picture exploded to a riot of color. He stiffened at the second note when her voice leapt a full octave without hesitation. She stroked the soft skin of his neck, and he melted into her as her voice carried on.

When the last note faded away, he pulled back to look at her with a wonder. She smiled. “And they said my arts degree was a waste of time.”

“I don’t know who _they_ are, but they sound like a pack of idiots.”

“They meant well.” She laced her fingers into his. “I’m sorry I asked. It wasn’t my place…”

“No, but I forgive you. Talking about, that… it’s not something we do. We’re taught to process through violence.” 

“Does it work?”

“One way or the other, sure. Either you tear something up and you’re able to move on, or you go too far, pick the wrong fight, and…”

“Get boxed into a crappy apartment, in a battle for your life, against the three biggest merc companies on Omega?”

“Hey, the place wasn’t that bad.”

She smiled. “There’s my Gare-bear.” He groaned. “Don’t worry, I won’t spread it around.” They returned to the bed, lying down to face each other. He shifted to rest against her, twining their legs and covering her arm with his. “Speaking of names,” she started, “you’ll have to stop calling yourself my boyfriend eventually. We have marks and a ring, all that’s missing is the appropriate paperwork, legally binding agreements, a family gathering? Well, your family…”

He stopped breathing for a moment. “If that’s what you want…”

She kissed his hand. “It kept me going. I don’t know if you’ve ever done it, but physical therapy is a _bitch._ I wanted to give up plenty of times. Apply for a permanent moby and roll the rest of the way through life. If I did that though, I wouldn’t be able to stand at our bonding. People do it all the time, but…”

“But that’s not you.” She shook her head. “Bonding, huh? Not a… wedding?”

She snorted. “Weddings are a pain in the ass. Who’d give me away, Joker? Why do we even give the bride away after all this time? Fuck _all of that._ You’re the one with family. A big, important family, right? Deep roots? Mine was dust on the wind before I could speak.” She still couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice.

“Well. I’ll need to find my family first. Last I heard they were safe, but since the comms are down…” Shepard squeezed his hand. He sighed. “Besides, I like the word ‘boyfriend.’ It’s so, extravagant. Boyfriend. Here we are, saving the galaxy from one horrific existential threat after another, and you make time for a… boyfriend.”

The adrenaline kick had faded, leaving her exhausted and heavy. The last thing she felt before drifting off was his thumb stroking the skin between her breasts, his touch light, his pace slow. _Boyfriend._ Her lips twitched in a smile as she fell asleep.

———

Getting up was hard to do. Her hangovers were usually mild and this one was doubly so, having burned through much of the ethanol in her system the night before. The leg was what made the bed so appealing, and everything outside it rather bleak. She tried to straighten it, but the muscles froze in a vicious cramp and she squeaked a bit as she let it go. Her quiet admission of discomfort was rewarded with a very concerned _boyfriend_ face popping into view. She moaned and pretended to sleep as she felt his critical eyes sweep her body for the culprit. 

“You really did a number on yourself, Shepard.”

“Mmm, thanks doc. Analgesics are in the bathroom. Be a dear and grab the bottle. And some water. And a muffin. Do I smell coffee?”

“Pain meds, hydration, sustenance, rocket fuel. Anything else?”

“Your undying devotion.”

He rested a hand on her leg. The warmth of him soothed the cramp to a degree just this side of excruciating. “Done. Ages ago.”

“Love you.”

He rumbled a subvocal answer and drew his hand down her leg as he left. Her skin shivered and the muscle let go just a bit more. “So, tell me how you danced a tango with your leg half chewed off while I forage for you.”

“Ha, that. Well, a mysterious stranger showed me a very good time one night at Silversun, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

“Hm, anyone I should be worried about?”

“Nah, he was a smooth talker, tall, handsome, but he wasn’t wearing a bit of armor. Seemed a little effete, but my, he could dance.”

He returned with the pills and water. “No armor, mm, sounds sketchy.”

“My thoughts exactly. The way he moved, though, I couldn’t forget it." She flicked the pills under her tongue and moaned when the quick release coating hit her bloodstream to race directly to her head. She tossed them back with a swig of water before continuing her story. "As my PT progressed, I asked Joy about incorporating dance into our sessions. She asked around, and soon I was in a dance therapy group twice a week." She smiled. “I felt like I was fifteen again, at the conservatory, pulling all nighters between rehearsal and finals.”

He had gone to the kitchen. “At where now?”

“Ah, I should have known that wouldn’t translate. It’s a school for the arts. Multidisciplinary. Mine focused on ‘triple threats,’ people who can act, sing, and dance.”

“You’re telling me, that you went to a school for dance? Sloane Shepard, terror of discos everywhere, went to dancing school?”

“I could hardly reenact Swan Lake around the poles of Afterlife. I was never very good, anyway. It’s the sort of thing you have to start young. I didn’t even know what ballet was until I was twelve.” A pause. “You know, I always had a suspicion that the state sponsors had me take those classes to improve my CQC. I had strong biotics, but no natural grace. Four years of intensive ballet later, I was last in the dance troupe, but first in the student corps hand-to-hand rankings.”

He balanced on the edge of the bed, breakfast in hand. “All this time, you let us rag on you for your terrible sense of rhythm…” he shook his head. “You always have an ace up your sleeve, don’t you?”

She chased a bite of muffin with some coffee. “Always keep them guessing.” She tested her leg again. It straightened with only a slight pull. He saw the stiff muscle and set to work on her mangled thigh. “Goodness. Breakfast in bed, and a sensual massage? Be careful, Garrus, I could get used to this.”

His mandibles flicked in a grin as he pressed against a knot. She hissed at the sudden pain, but the relief when he moved on was sweet. “Speaking of things you can get used to, how about that bed?”

“Worried about your little remodel in my quarters, Vakarian?”

“I don’t know if worried is the right word…”

“It’s fine. Humans are flexible. Hell, you kept my fish alive! That’s more than enough currency to cover a little amateur interior design—” She stifled a yelp as he found another knot. He looked at her, concerned, but she nodded. “Keep going. It always feels worse before it gets better.”

“Liara kept your fish alive. I didn’t ah, move in, until we were underway. Now that I think about it, I’d bet part of the reason she threw me in there was to toss them off on someone else.”

“They’ll need a new home if Tali is going to work on the habitat. What do you think the going rate for Commander Shepard’s pet fish is these days?” 

He stopped kneading her leg and moved to long, light strokes from hip to knee. “Like we need more credits. What’s your account up to now?”

She grinned. “Like you didn’t check before you docked. Besides, you haven’t heard about our next mission. We might need all the help we can get.” She set her dishes to the side and he settled into the bed behind her. “We’re going on a bear hunt, Vakarian.” He shot a question over her shoulder. “The mass relay will be finished in a few months, but they’re no good on their own. So, we go the long way around. We, the Normandy, are tasked with keeping the civilians safe, first, but scouting for garden worlds off the relay system, second.”

He shifted, His breath was hot on her neck as he drew his talons along her side. She snuggled closer as she continued. “The relays made us weak. They made a topiary out of space-faring civilizations, and they did it for… really, billions of years. It’s in the interest of everyone to branch out from the old system.” His fingers had trailed to a dangerously low mark, but she wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of cutting her off. “There’s a shitload of rules and regs to follow, but it’s all pretty basic. Don’t make contact with primitives, don’t introduce foreign matter until it’s declared a colony world, that kind of thing.”

His tongue flicked along her neck just under her ear. His hand inched its way between her legs. His talon found… ah. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I’m boring you.” 

“Never.” He kept at his delicate manipulations, his touch precise, the pressure exact. A flush rose in her cheeks as he dipped the other talon into her, testing. She writhed against him, but his pace didn’t waver. His finger pressed into her, retreated, pressed further. She tried to grind down but he moved with her, elusive. She made a small frustrated noise in her throat. He rumbled a laugh and she felt the tip of his cock tap her back. _Bastard,_ she thought. He was already out. 

She twisted her hips to drop his hand, flipped herself to face him, threw her bad leg over his waist and laced between his legs with the other. He had the decency to look impressed for a moment. She guided him to her cleft, rested his tip against her. “Gonna make good on all this teasing, _boyfriend?”_

“Mm. I seem to recall ministering to a damsel in distress, earlier. I wouldn’t want to cause more suffering…”

“Endorphins speed healing. I read it on the extranet.”

“Must be true.”

“Garrus if you don’t fuck me right now _AH—”_ He purred as he thrust into her, his deep tones vibrating around and within her. She pressed against him, greedy, but he moved with an unusual lazy indulgence. He traced her nipples, drew them to a stiff peak, the sharp edge of his talon a whisper on her skin. “What are you playing at, anyway?”

“Not playing. Just not in a hurry. I realized something last night.” He brought his leg up between hers, shifting deeper, his thigh an anchor. She stroked the rough skin, the spur jutting from his calf. “This is the first time we’ve been together without the imminent destruction of life as we know it hanging over us.” He traced the lines of her face, brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, all the while keeping a slow, steady rhythm that neither sought nor desired more than to simply, be. 

She let herself be lulled by his strange mood. So much so, that when the old familiar sweetness rose in her it didn’t register, not until she found herself grasping him gasping his name, the hinge of his thigh tight on her sex, every precious arc of him drawing fresh waves of release. He thrummed a low, pleased note as she fell back. 

She shifted to trace the silvery plates that speckled his neck and he closed his eyes. Her fingers trailed higher still to where he was softest, and on reaching that place, she hummed a low song that resonated within him. His eyes snapped open as his hips snapped forward, and she watched as his focus narrowed to the point of convergence between _he_ and _she._ His rhythm was steady, each downbeat growing in intensity as she drew unnamed shapes on the sensitive skin and her voice plunged and flitted within him, her tempo matched to his. At last he came, his growl a crescendo cut by a catch in his breath as he pulsed in her. 

She held him, her small, strong hand at the back of his neck until the tension bled from his body. She let him go when he pulled back. He darted forward again, his mouth seeking hers. They kissed long and deep, twice joined, their limbs entangled, their backs pressed against the gentle curve of the bed. A warmth greater than a simple post-coital glow rose in her. Her breath hitched in her throat and he broke their kiss. He lifted the tear from her cheek with the smooth pad of his finger, and tucked her face into the soft skin of his neck. She knew, at last, what it was to be loved and safe. He held her in silence as she wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah she sings Over the Rainbow. In 2187. Don't @ me.
> 
> "Going on a bear hunt" from the delightful children's book of the same name, written by Michael Rosen and illustrated by Helen Oxenbury.


	11. Where Everything Is Just Fine

**GROUP MSG=(NORMANDY SQ)//START: 18.11.2187 0830GMT**

*****

 **Shepard-Commander:** Hello, testing? Is this thing on?

 **GarrusV:** Reading you loud and clear, Shepard. Nice handle.

 **DrLiara:** Initiating a group chat while attending a closed meeting may not be the wisest course of action, Shepard.

 **Tali.Z:** EDI and I wrote the security protocols. You would have to lock yourself in an archive vault if you wanted more privacy.

 **Shepard-Commander:** Damn. Taking it all the way there, huh Tali?

 **Tali.Z:** When my programming is in question, yes.

 **DrLiara:** My apologies. The ability to converse while we are here may prove useful.

 **PartyVega:** Useful in keeping me awake. Man, I hate meetings like this. So much brass. Why am I even here?

 **PartyVega:** And why am I PartyVega? Who set these handles?

 **Shepard-Commander:** Propaganda, Vega. Get the team that saved the galaxy up on stage for handshakes and photo ops. Don’t worry, you’re getting dismissed before the real fun begins. And you didn’t respond to the email in time, so I set your handle. You’re welcome!

 **MadAsh:** That might have been my fault. Sorry babe!

 **PartyVega:** Ay, that’s what I get for letting you borrow my stuff.

 **Shepard-Commander:** Stow it, lovebirds. Hackett’s up.

 **GarrusV:** The relay is functional? I thought they had a few months left.

 **Shepard-Commander:** News to me. Explains how pushy Hackett’s been these last few weeks, though. 

**DrLiara:** One functional relay is the first step on a very long journey. Based on the damage sustained by the Citadel, Sol’s relay, and the Reaper forces, it is reasonable to assume that every other relay was also destroyed in the chain reaction initiated by the Crucible. 

**PartyVega:** You mean the red beam of death that shot us into that random planet?

 **DrLiara:** Yes. 

**Shepard-Commander:** That’s us. Hero faces, everyone.

 **MadAsh:** Okay that wasn’t so bad. Keep my rifle company Jimmy, this smells like overtime.

 **PartyVega:** You got it babe. Vega out.

**[PartyVega has left the chat]**

**GarrusV:** Damn, here comes the cavalry.

 **Shepard-Commander:** This is my reward for saving the galaxy. Endless board meetings. Quick, someone go back to last year me. Tell her control is the only option.

 **GarrusV:** Shepard…

 **Shepard-Commander:** Sorry. 

**DrLiara:** We have representatives from the civilian branch of the Systems Alliance, the military of each species, and several of the Crucible scientists. I feel as though I should know why we are all here. Not knowing is… unsettling.

 **Shepard-Commander:** They’re playing very close to the vest on this one. I don’t like it either.

 **Tali.Z:** Save us from the salarians. Why are we watching a slideshow on relay restoration? I could have reviewed the schematics over breakfast. This had better be leading somewhere.

 **DrLiara:** I have an idea of where they are going, but I hope I am mistaken.

 **GarrusV:** Shepard stop

 **MadAsh:** No

 **Tali.Z:** Keelah…

 **GarrusV:** SHEPARD

*****

“Have you LOST your MINDS?” Shepard’s voice rang out over the gathered scientists and dignitaries. Rage propelled her to her feet. “Restore the Citadel? The Citadel is an abomination. The Citadel is _dead._ Will you build our future on its corpse?”

The asari who had spoken for the scientists stood. “We understand your misgivings—”

Shepard focused her anger. “Did you see the mountains of bodies? Did you smell the rot of corpses? The terror of the living? You think we can rebuild and sing kumbaya around the Presidium knowing the truth? No. I will never support this.”

Hackett stood up. “Commander Shepard. We are not here to ask for your support. Resources and personnel have already been diverted to begin the first stage—”

“Personnel, huh? How many of them have come back?” Hackett shifted, and Shepard flashed her teeth. “Yeah. It’s one thing to pull people out of the rubble. It’s another to delve into the belly of the beast. You don’t just clock out at the end of the day.” 

The asari spoke again. “We have been developing countermeasures—”

“Countermeasures to WHAT? You’ve read the reports. The AI is dead. What replaces it? Who will maintain it, now that the keepers are gone?” Shepard leaned her knuckles into the table, their complaint grounding her. “I was given a mission to kill it. I did. Blew the thing to hell.” She pushed off the table and started pacing behind her crew. “It has done enough. Let it rest. Better yet, throw it into the sun with the rest of its army.”

Hackett glared at her. “Stand down, Shepard.”

She stopped and glared at the admirals. “You are not _hearing_ me. The Reapers? Their dreadnoughts and the twisted shells of ourselves they threw at us? They answered to the Citadel. It was never _ours._ We crawled along its skin like fleas on a dog.”

“Shepard.” Hackett fixed her with a stern look, fear in his eyes. “Stand down.” 

“Yes sir, Admiral, sir.” She gave him a sharp nod and took her seat. 

*****

 **Shepard-Commander:** Tali, can you add Hackett to this group? He’s scared of something, and I need to know what.

 **Tali.Z:** Right away, Shepard.

**[Adm.Hackett has joined the chat]**

**Adm.Hackett:** What is this? How did you get access for that code?

 **Tali.Z:** Sorry Admiral, Shepard said she needed your attention. I didn’t think anything less would work.

 **Adm.Hackett:** That’s some nerve, Shepard.

 **Shepard-Commander:** Thank you, Hackett. For earlier. You’re spooked, and I need to know why.

 **Adm.Hackett:** This is neither the time nor the place. Anyone could be listening in.

 **GarrusV:** It’s just us, Admiral. Tali and EDI wrote our security. Anyone trying to hack in will be bombarded with 1.21 zettabytes of the best porn the extranet has to offer. 

**Shepard-Commander:** Best?

 **GarrusV:** Or worst. Eye of the beholder.

 **DrLiara:** Admiral Hackett, may I ask who is behind the push to restore the Citadel?

 **Adm.Hackett:** The asari ambassador has been aggressively pursuing Citadel reconstruction. Could be they think we will forget their hidden beacon on Thessia if they get the Citadel functional again. The salarian and turian councils have no intention of letting that one go, though. The asari lorded their superiority over them far too long. No offense intended, Dr. T’soni.

 **DrLiara:** None taken. I am as appalled as anyone that it was kept from us. The things we might have learned…

 **Adm.Hackett:** Agreed. I’m concerned about the turian response. Their remaining force is on par with ours. If they agree to rebuild the Citadel, our hands are tied.

 **Shepard-Commander:** What’s SA’s position on the Citadel?

 **Adm.Hackett:** They just want it out of Earth orbit before it tears our atmosphere apart. Between the dust the war kicked up, the constant bombardment from the debris field, and the Citadel disrupting our ozone layer, Earth’s habitat is very much in danger.

 **Shepard-Commander:** So, not opposed to throwing it into the sun?

 **Adm.Hackett:** There are several politicians who advocate for restoration once it’s moved. The Sol system would become the de facto center of the galaxy. Whether the other races would tolerate that remains to be seen, but I wouldn’t bet on it.

 **GarrusV:** The turians would want it back where it was, in neutral territory.

 **DrLiara:** The asari would feel the same. That location was crucial to its function as the seat of galactic power. If it remained in Sol, another option would be necessary.

 **Shepard-Commander:** So, we agree that it’s best remanded to the warm embrace of our neighborhood star…

 **Adm.Hackett:** What we agree doesn’t matter. We have to get more people on board. Even with 30% of it destroyed, it’s far too massive for the Alliance to move on our own. It’s in our space which puts it in our jurisdiction, but without the Hierarchy’s fleet to assist, we’re as likely to send it into Earth as the sun. As it stands, it wouldn’t take much to disrupt its current position into a degrading orbit, so we have to be cautious in how we approach this.

 **Shepard-Commander:** Which is why you ordered me to stand down.

 **Adm.Hackett:** Just so.

 **GarrusV:** I may be able to help with the turians. Given our history with the Council, I imagine there will be resistance to returning to the status quo.

 **DrLiara:** And I can look into who is pulling strings with the asari and salarians. 

**MadAsh:** Guys heads up. The comms are working between here, Palaven, and Sur’kesh. They just started reading the reports.

 **Adm.Hackett:** We’ve been receiving from Sur’kesh for about a week now. Seems like the salarians got off the easiest. They had a few incursions by Reaper forces in key labs and cities, but little to no large scale destruction.

 **MadAsh:** Oh Garrus, I’m so sorry.

 **Tali.Z:** Keelah, those numbers…

 **GarrusV:** I saw all of Cipritine on fire from Menae. Once you see something like that… 

**Adm.Hackett:** It never gets easier. 

**GarrusV:** No.

 **Shepard-Commander:** Holy hell Garrus, isn’t that your dad? Your dad is the acting Primarch over Palaven! Hey, does that make you royalty?

 **Tali.Z:** Shepard…

 **Adm.Hackett:** Shepard, meet me in my office tomorrow at 0900. Is the Normandy ready to go yet? I heard the engineers were both impressed and exasperated by the field repair.

 **Shepard-Commander:** That’s our Tali. She’s ready, but I have a few things to pick up before I am. 

**Adm.Hackett:** Acknowledged. Hackett out.

**[Adm.Hackett has left the chat]**

**Shepard-Commander:** Looks like that’s it for us as well. Thanks a million, boys and girls. All hands meeting on the Normandy tomorrow at 1600. 

**MadAsh:** Aye aye, skipper. Williams out.

 **Tali.Z:** Thank you, Shepard. I will finish my req forms for the habitat and send them to you later today. Tali’Zorah out.

 **DrLiara:** I will begin gathering information immediately. I will be in touch, Shepard. T’soni out.

**[MadAsh has left the chat]**  
**[DrLiara has left the chat]**  
**[Tali.Z has left the chat]**

**GarrusV:** No Shepard, that doesn’t make me turian royalty. But I appreciate the assist. 

**Shepard-Commander:** Hell, nice work keeping a straight face. I would have lost it if I were you. How are we gonna celebrate? Big night on the town? Take out and a vid?

 **GarrusV:** Take out, definitely. Why are we still using the chat, anyway? I’m standing right here.

 **Shepard-Commander:** I’m waiting to see how long it stays open, and what 1.21 zettabytes of porn will do to my omni-tool once it times out.

**[GarrusV has left the chat]**

**Shepard-Commander:** This will either be amazing, or one of the worst decisions I’ve ever made.

*****

“Spoil sport.” She leaned against the elevator’s railing.

“If you want a new omni-tool, we should try to auction that one before you blow it up with EDI’s porn.”

Shepard smiled and kissed his forehead with hers. “You okay?”

Garrus rocked his head against her. He sagged as he let himself feel the weight of the reports. “Palaven. It’s gone, Shepard.”

She straightened and took his face in her hands. “I know this is hard. I’ve been watching Earth rebuild for almost a year, but I remember the day they cleared me to receive status updates.” He closed his eyes and exhaled, long and slow. “Yeah. We still don’t have a full account of the casualties, and I doubt we ever will. We lost at least seventy percent of the population, our power grids are destroyed, ocean acidity and albedo are on the rise, global temps are dropping… it’s bleak, but the only way forward is through. Hey.” His eyes flicked up to meet hers. “You got me. I got you. And, I have a sneaking suspicion that Palaven is our first priority.” The ache in his eyes lanced her chest, and she slipped her arms around his waist, leaning her head against his armor. They held each other until the doors opened to the ground floor.

———

Tali stood before Shepard’s aquarium, hip cocked and arms crossed in thought. Shepard’s brow furrowed. She looked at the smaller woman, a vague wave of her hand toward the curiosity. Tali shook her head and poked at a trailing vine, watching as the tendril curled around her glove.

“Well, we know they’re happy here.” Tali shrugged.

“A little too happy if you ask me. I don’t want to wake up being strangled by your salad, Tali. They haven’t been here a whole day and they’re already climbing through the vents.”

“I did ask for the best cuttings.” She exhaled in a huff. “Don’t worry. Once the colony is introduced, the habitat will be sealed just as it was for your fish. No salads will leave until our new CS asks for them.”

“How is this Hal’Inzu nar Chayym settling in? Never thought I'd have a quarian culinary specialist on my ship.”

"He was responsible for the dextro menu at our party, and he picked up several levo techniques working under the chef." Tali tapped her mask, thinking. "He is quiet. Mostly, he works on his hydroponics and talks to his plants.” She grinned at Shepard. “Were we ever so young?”

Shepard laughed. “Oh, you were, Tali. Anyone so much as glanced in your direction, you’d wring your hands so hard I was sure they were detachable.” She nudged her. “Look at you now, though.”

Tali shook her head. “Look at us. Not even a year after we win the war to end all wars, it feels like we’ve returned to the beginning. You don’t even have the stripes to show for it, Commander.”

“I have the best crew on the best ship in the whole galaxy. Who needs stripes?”

“Hear, hear.”

“I gotta go check on Ash. She’s reporting to her new ship in thirty and I want to see her off.”

“Do you mind if I stay here?” Tali began folding the slender vines back into the habitat. “Hal should arrive any minute with the colony.”

“Not at all.” Shepard looked at her old aquarium. The qu’arat school was made up of much smaller fish than what had been at their party, their flat, whiskered heads a beaten gold that seemed to chip off into their sturdy violet backs. Some had attached themselves to the glass, the sky blue of their bellies nearly invisible against the back wall. “Seems like a shame to eat something so pretty.”

“I wish they tasted as good as they look. It’s just like data, though. Garbage in, garbage out.”

Shepard chuckled. “I’m sure Hal will manage. The head chef really didn’t want to let him go. I’ll see you later, Tali.” She opened her door as Tali waved. Garrus stepped off the elevator with a shrinking quarian shadow in his wake. She grasped his talons in passing and nodded to Hal, who nearly dropped the formicid queen and workers. Garrus chuffed, amused, and waited for the kid in the indigo envirosuit to compose himself before moving on. Shepard grinned at Tali’s strained patience as the elevator doors closed.

Ash was securing her footlocker when Shepard walked up. She looked so contained, so ready, despite the turn of melancholy at her lips. She grinned when she noticed Shepard, and held out her hand. Shepard took it to pull her into a rough embrace. “We have seen some shit, Ash.” They pulled apart to regard each other. Shepard cuffed Ash’s shoulder. “Ready to see some more?”

“Yes ma’am. I wanted to thank you, Commander. I cussed you a lot over the years, but you always came through. I wouldn’t be a commander now if you hadn’t shown me how it’s done. After everything… I want you to know, I’ll always have your six.”

Shepard pulled her in for another hug, then picked up a duffel as they walked to a waiting Kodiak. Just before leaving, Williams snapped a crisp salute to her commander. Shepard squared her shoulders and returned it with all the feeling of the last few years. Ash released when she did, eyes misting as she boarded the shuttle. Shepard stood back to let them go, her heart climbing with the Kodiak as they flew out of sight. There was a familiar click and scuff of booted talons on decking, and she leaned into Garrus when he stopped behind her. Long arms encircled her, blue armor resting easily on her black uniform. 

“Hal’Inzu will be an interesting addition to the crew. He’s already developed quite the crush on our resident admiral.” Garrus chuckled.

She lowered her voice. “Well, if it keeps her off my boyfriend for a few days…” Shepard glanced back at him, mischief in her eyes.

“Ah, you did notice.” Garrus rumbled against her. “The first weeks after crashing were pretty rough, on all of us. Quite a few turian social norms were airlocked with a quarian and an asari attending my, ah, convalescence. Liara understood when I began pulling away, but Tali…”

“Tali always liked you, Garrus. Then you became her captain? I wonder, what might have happened between you if—”

Garrus stalked around to face her, his eyes flashing. “Don’t finish that thought, Shepard. Don’t ever.”

She stroked his unscarred mandible, the edge of her fingers soft on his neck. “Tali doesn't threaten me, or us. I worry about her, Garrus. As much as she’s seen, as tough as she is… just, let her down easy, okay? She’ll miss the open hand if she’s focused on the one that's closed.”

He leaned his forehead on hers for a moment. “Hm. There was another reason I came down here. Oh yes, you’re needed to sign off on the new dextro habitat.” He stepped back and offered his arm. “Shall we?”

———

“I am glad you came by, Shepard.” Liara waited for the door to close before saying more. “I have found the people behind the drive to restore the Citadel. They call themselves the Reborn Sisterhood of Athame, and their leader claims to be descended from the early priests. It is a fabrication of course, but they have some very well-placed scientists and diplomats within the Crucible project.”

“Which has become a center of political power in the months since the Reapers fell.”

“Yes.”

“So what’s their deal? Restore the Citadel and reign as the benevolent superiors they were meant to be?”

“Essentially, yes. Although, some of their correspondence is anything but benevolent. Particularly with regards to you after you said we should destroy it. As much as it pains me to say, I am glad the other asari will be staying behind when we leave for Palaven.”

“Have they made any progress in the Citadel? Last I heard, they pulled all the survivors out and roped it off.”

“Reports from the search and rescue teams indicate that while the structures on the Presidium were destroyed, two of the wards are mostly intact. The others have varying degrees of damage, and one is almost entirely gone. Conservative estimates to restore it to its former state run in the hundreds of trillions of credits, in a galaxy that may count resources in no more than the tens of trillions. 

“There is also the cost of life to consider. Six teams of ten scientists and engineers were sent to assess the damage. Of those sixty people, twelve are institutionalized, eight have committed suicide, and forty are missing, presumed dead.” Shepard whistled long and low. “You did not know this when you asked how many had returned?”

She shook her head. “No, but I was there while it was closed. I talked to the AI in charge of that abattoir.” She shivered. “If walking inside a dead Reaper was bad, walking through the Citadel was ten times worse. I can only imagine how it would affect someone who wasn’t prepared for an assault.” She ran a hand through her hair. “What are they doing with it, now that the turians helped us move it farther out?”

“It has been on lockdown since they lost contact with the last team. I heard the final transmissions.” Liara closed her eyes. “I wish I had not. It was terrible, Shepard.” She took a deep breath before opening them. “That was nearly four months ago. An opposing faction has always existed. At first, they wanted to keep it as a memorial to those lost in the war. Since your condemnation however, they have grown in number, and they now advocate for its destruction as well.”

“Good. I’ve seen what happens when people try to bend Reaper tech to their own ends. Do you have any other data on the missing teams, something media appropriate?”

“Hm. I might. Diana Allers and I have kept in touch since our return. I could pass information to her. If we manage to turn public opinion against restoring the Citadel in advance of an announcement, we would use the Sisterhood's secrecy against them. We would cut the legs from under them before they try to make a stand.” Liara nodded. “I will start that now. Thank you, Shepard.”

“Thank you, Liara. And thanks again for getting those messages through. I think Garrus aged backwards about fifteen years when he heard from his family.”

Liara smiled at her console. “He brought your family home. It was my pleasure to connect him with his.”

———

Garrus checked the seals on his gauntlet. He unzipped his duffel, the insectile buzz plucking overtight strings in his chest. He shivered. Everything was in place and accounted for, just like the last five times he’d checked. He bounced on his feet, snaking his neck and rolling his shoulders. The air crackled with static emotional and electric, the last minutes of the countdown to departure reverberating in the walls and down his spine. He considered the cannon before him. Calibrating was his happy place once, but now the numbers slipped through his mind, oiled by the tensity of their imminent launch. The Normandy was ready. The fleet they sailed under was the greatest force this cycle had ever seen. The future rolled limitless before him for the first time in years. 

He was going home. 

Comms sputtered and her voice filled his narrow room as he left for the bridge. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Welcome aboard the good ship Normandy, flight 4242 with service from Earth to the great unknown.” Garrus heard laughter over the comm. “We are currently seventy-first in line for take off, and are expected to be in the air in approximately five minutes time. The current temperature is fourteen degrees Celsius, wind speed is a breezy twenty-three kilometers per hour, and we're looking at a solid one hundred percent cloud cover. We ask that you please fasten your seat belts, secure your carry on baggage, and return all table trays to their upright and locked positions.” He exited the elevator as laughter filled the CIC. The context was lost on him, but Garrus felt the waning tension as the iron bands around his chest loosened. He took his first deep breath since waking up that morning, exhaling slowly through his nose. Shepard winked at him as he passed, and she went on.

“I only have a few minutes, so I’ll keep this short. You are all here because you’re the best of the best. Some of you have been with me since the beginning, and some were reassigned this morning. No matter how long you’ve served, this crew is my top priority. XO Vakarian and I keep an open door policy; please take advantage of it. This is an Alliance vessel under command of a Council Spectre. As a result, our crew is comprised of humans, turians, quarians, and more. Yes, there is a baby rachni queen aboard and no, you may not pet her.” Garrus chuckled. Even in her infancy, the new queen had a regal self-possession that allowed for no response but a deep respect. 

“This mission will be a one way trip for many of us. The nights will be long and the days, often longer. So it is when voyaging into the unknown, and so it has always been. Now, let us ‘slip the surly bonds of Earth, to touch the face of God.’ Joker, start the countdown.”

“Aye aye, commander. Launch in ninety seconds.” Garrus strapped in and felt the Normandy’s dull roar in his chest, and the answering bellow from the fleet around them. Seventy-five docked ships rose one after the other, the tonal shift as they engaged secondary thrusters an orchestra of raw power. His stomach flipped when the ship’s inertial dampeners replaced Earth’s gravity, and he watched the planet’s surface drop away. Shepard joined them as Joker eased the Normandy into formation behind a turian frigate, the fleet poised and waiting for their mark. 

Admiral Hackett gave the order from his flagship, and the last seventy-five to join the fleet of thousands did slip the bonds of Earth to join their sisters above. Shepard laced her fingers in his as they broke through the clouds to see the sun shining in a deep blue sky. She squeezed his hand and he realized, it was the first time she had seen the sun in months, and possibly the last time she would see the color of the sky over her homeworld. His chest ached for her, even as he lashed himself to the mast of their future. He stroked her hand with his thumb, offering quiet understanding as she soaked in every precious second under that perfect blue dome. 

Once the blue had deepened to violet, indigo, and at last the fathomless, spangled black of space, she turned from the window to look at him. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, her cheeks flushed. He glanced ahead; Joker and EDI were preoccupied with joining the fleet. He left his harness to kneel at her side, and she buried her face in his neck. Her breath slipped down his chest, warming the space between his tunic and armor. She whispered, “Is the sky blue on Palaven?”

“Yes, but not like this. We have twice as many moons, though.” She sighed. He pressed his cheek into her hair, and let himself remember. “When Menae and Nanus are full, the night is nearly as bright as day. The flowers bloom and trees unfurl their leaves to catch the reflected sunlight, and the air is alive with their perfume. Flocks of kilombis a thousand strong wheel over rooftops in the cities, and the steel in their feathers shatters the moonlight into a second starfield. If you are seaside, the ocean lucincius spawn in the shallows, and their scales catch the light to reflect prisms across the water.” He held her shoulders and asked her to look at him with a tilt of his head. Grey eyes met blue across a divide, one that closed with each picture he painted for her. “When the twin moons are full, Palaven is full as well, and you will walk under the silver night as a Vakarian, to see for yourself.” He cupped her cheek as her lips parted. “If, that is still what you want.”

“Garrus,” his name soft and sacred on her breath. “Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> High Flight, by John Gillespie Magee Jr.
> 
> Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth,  
> And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;  
> Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth  
> Of sun-split clouds, --and done a hundred things  
> You have not dreamed of --Wheeled and soared and swung  
> High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there  
> I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung  
> My eager craft through footless halls of air...  
> Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue  
> I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace  
> Where never lark or even eagle flew --  
> And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod  
> The high untrespassed sanctity of space,  
> Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.


	12. That Silver Thread Embedded Deep Within Our Spines

Pressure.

Whisper, breath—

Vibrations high and low

Rhythms known,

Beloved.

Shift, seek. Edged heat, pressure.

Breathe. Inhale, exhale. Spice, stardust.

Pieces scattered, gathered.

Fitted to bond 

A new whole seamed gold.

Outside, velvet black diamond sown—

Inside hum, home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Act I. 
> 
> Chapter 4 was largely rewritten on 2/3/2019, so if you'd like to know who the hell Joy Gannett is, what Chakwas said to kick Garrus in the ass, and see a proper Shep freak out, check in there.
> 
> Act II isn't more than a nebulous idea at this point, so I'll be polishing this one and doing some research and outlining for a while. 
> 
> Thank you for being here, from the bottom of my little heart.


End file.
